thoughts

Why Are You *YOU*

Why Are You YOU
(click to view text only)

Why Are You *YOU*

And why is me … me?
I lay on the bed in the after­noon. Even through the full blast of the air-​con, the heat and humid­ity of a Fri­day after­noon in Saudi crept through the crevices of the walls. A whiff of mlookhiyyeh being pre­pared flit­ted through the cor­ri­dors; my mother was down­stairs mak­ing lunch. My sis­ter was in her bed­room. I was in mine. Dad was hav­ing cof­fee in the liv­ing room.
It was maybe 20 years ago when I pon­dered that question.
I kept cog­i­tat­ing, back then, on why would I exist as Kinan, and not Mohammed or Ramzi or Dania or a mat­tress or a table or a peb­ble; why did my soul, con­scious, or what­ever peo­ple label it, look through the eyes of *this* body and not *that* body. When I laugh, would other peo­ple find what I laughed at funny, sad — and in what intensity?
Why would my feel­ings dif­fer from some­one else’s? Who is this “char­ac­ter” called Kinan — the ran­dom(?) com­bi­na­tion of this body with that soul?
More trou­bling has been deter­min­ing what my con­scious was. Why was that con­scious “aware” — powered on — and exists? Where was it before? Where will it go?
I am 28 now, and I still don’t even know how to for­mu­late the ques­tion beyond “why is me … me?” — but I will know the answer when I see it. 
And prob­a­bly only then will I have the full under­stand­ing to ask the question.
And why is me … me?
 
I lay on the bed in the afternoon. Even through the full blast of the air-con, the heat and humidity of a Friday afternoon in Saudi crept through the crevices of the walls. A whiff of mlookhiyyeh being prepared flitted through the corridors; my mother was downstairs making lunch. My sister was in her bedroom. I was in mine. Dad was having coffee in the living room.
 
It was maybe 20 years ago when I pondered that question.
 
I kept cogitating, back then, on why would I exist as Kinan, and not Mohammed or Ramzi or Dania or a mattress or a table or a pebble; why did my soul, conscious, or whatever people label it, look through the eyes of *this* body and not *that* body. When I laugh, would other people find what I laughed at funny, sad — and in what intensity?
 
Why would my feelings differ from someone else’s? Who is this “character” called Kinan — the random(?) combination of this body with that soul?
 
More troubling has been determining what my conscious was. Why was that conscious “aware” — powered on — and exists? Where was it before? Where will it go?
 
I am 28 now, and I still don’t even know how to formulate the question beyond “why is me … me?” — but I will know the answer when I see it. 
 
And probably only then will I have the full understanding to ask the question.
  • Craig

    I’m 50 and not yet convinced I have the answer—simply because an answer that I can relate to on human terms remains elusive—though I admit to having asked this question many times, most often in some broad, rather nebulous context of finding spirituality, and therein mostly limited to the concept of reincarnation. Perhaps it’s simply a matter of my inability to wrap language around concepts that elude it. Perhaps it’s my lack of worldly experience. Perhaps it’s simply that I’ve kept my world too small even though I’d like to think I do otherwise. Perhaps it’s been my historical lack of ability to accept that some things must be believed to be seen.

    That is, the “me” that is me today is but one more experience of the larger “me” that is on this long journey. To where I cannot say. Yet. And are we better off if in fact we do find out?

  • jarofjuice

    It is a question that is difficult to answer for sure. I mostly struggle with the *now* vs the past or future. In other words, why has my soul awoken *now* and in this form.