Who Am I?

If someone asks “Who are you,” how would you answer? Could you even answer honestly? Would you even answer in the first place?

“Who are you?” A simple question I’ve been very familiar with growing up. 

Different, though?

I still remember an incident as a child when my family and I visited a distant relative. My mother prompted me to go and greet our hostess, and the first thing that came out of her mouth was, “Who are you?” To which my mother replied, “She’s my youngest daughter.” 

Our hostess looked taken aback. “Is she? Why does she look so different from your other kids, though?” My mother explained that I inherited my father’s genetics, which stopped further questions.

Another incident was when my mother’s brother and sister-in-law once visited us from the US. I greeted them as they entered the house. I was already in high school at that time. My aunt asked, “Who are you?” 

My mother would once again explain that I am her youngest daughter. My aunt quickly responded, “You gave birth to another child? I thought you only had four children! Why didn’t I hear anything about her till now?” she asked, surprised by the revelation. 

Another shock came when I was already in my thirties. A friend of mine arranged a job interview for me at her office. I asked her if the boss knew about the supposed interview, but she assured me that everything was good. However her boss was unaware of it, and to my utter embarrassment he asked me in front of everyone present, “Who are you?’  Justify yourself. 

It’s funny how I still remember these incidents after so many years. There were still a few more incidents when I was questioned “Who are you!” I slowly became accustomed to the demand.

As a child, hearing this question over and over felt odd in some way, but I thought nothing about it. In my young mind, I thought it was just a usual way of life. But, as I matured, it made me question my very existence more and more.

“Who am I?” 

I would have answered it directly and honestly if not for the rumors flying around that I could no longer ignore. 

Some circumstantial shreds of evidence also led me to another question, “Where did I come from?” I tried finding answers on my own with no success. As the holy scripture has its Genesis, so should I. 

“How did I come to be?” a question I needed an answer to

When I was about eight or nine years old, my eldest sister had a little disagreement with our father about me, then she referred to me as their “ward” in a burst of anger. This incident made me realize that something wasn’t quite right with my situation because, even in anger, she should have referred to me as her sister, right? 

Nosy neighbors, friends, and relatives often asked my parents where I was born; surprisingly, they always had different answers. My father would say that I was born in Manila, while my mother insisted that I was born in the province, leaving me with more questions and doubts. I mean, which parents would provide opposing answers to a question they should have known the answer to, right?

Am I really “the daughter” or a “long-lost daughter of someone else?” 

Why does my very existence drive people to ask “Who are you?”It’s  a question not even I can answer. 

Not even family members are willing to answer. To the grave and beyond, I will carry these doubts. How I wish…. that I could proudly say that I know myself like the back of my hand, but I simply cannot, and that’s just how it will perhaps be for a long time.

Who am I? I feel like a simple person, still trying to find her niche in this world, trying to thrive and find happiness along the way, but if someone asks who I am in a literal sense, my response would be, “I don’t know.”

So many questions left unanswered, one after another. 

Who? What? When? Where? How? All running through my mind nonstop. And every time I try to unravel the mystery, I am met by a wall so high blocking my view of the truth. 

I am already weary of looking for some clarity. Yes, the truth might hurt, but also set me free? Only time will tell if I will ever discover the truth. With the way things are at the moment, who knows if I’ll ever find the perfect answer to the nagging question:

“Who am I?”