Description
Sometimes we live with so many different faces, roles, and expectations that it becomes hard to tell which one is truly ours.
Part of us comes from the past. Part comes from the people we’ve loved, the things we were expected to be, and the versions of ourselves we created simply to keep going.
We change. We adapt. And sometimes we take on faces we can’t even remember choosing.
Maybe identity isn’t something fixed, something we’re born with and simply discover. Maybe it’s made of everything we’ve been, everything we’ve lost, and everything we’ve carried with us.
And maybe the real question isn’t “Which one is me?”
Maybe it’s:
Among all the faces I carry, which one did I choose for myself?
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