I have noticed that some of the articles here have discussed so far (indirectly most of the time) the individual’s personality. In my opinion, people seem to have two different parts of their beings. There is the personality, which is the image the individual presents to the society and to himself through his characteristics and abilities, or, in other way, what a person thinks of himself to be. Secondly, the individual’s reality: what he really is.

I’m not interested in discussing the individual’s problem of identity or his vain attempt to find the real nature of his lost personality. I’m more interested in to what extent do we know each other. When I read the article “search for me” by sister Mona, I realized how she mixed up between talking about herself (personality) and her duties as a Muslim girl. The title of this article made me ask myself the question that people seem to find it so hard to answer “Who am I?” So for those that are interested, or not interested, to know about me, this is my answer... this is me …

I’m the one who is bored from being called with the same name for his entire life, my name is not Mohammed, my name is something else.

I’m that shy, insecure, confidence lacking skinny boy who couldn’t answer the teachers’ questions even he knew the answers. I’m the smartest student with the lowest grades.

I’m the coward who woke his dad up at midnight when he saw a small harmless mouse in his bedroom. I’m the brave kid who didn’t lie and never hesitated to say the truth no matter what the expenses were.

I’m the blind who points, with his stick, to people’s mistakes whenever they are wrong.
I’m the deaf who hears the loud cries of the poor patients who can’t pay for their chemo therapies when he takes his mom to the hospital.

I’m the naive who couldn’t notice the girl she loved him even with the hints she gave; I’m the one who’s looking for love in a train he doesn’t have its ticket.

I’m very close to people, a stranger among them; I’m the candle that burns itself to enlighten their dark ways; yet, no one sees him; no one cares about him. I’m the shadow of my shadow; I’m Mr. nobody.

I’m neither a criminal nor an innocent; I’m the victim who victimized his humanity to live in this irrational world.

I’m the Muslim; the harmless terrorist; the fake bullet in a broken pistol pointed at the enemy but never shoot him; I’m the innocent criminal who was jailed in people’s minds.

I’m the Palestinian, back stubbed by a coward Israeli hands; the breath of the dying starved African kid that whispers in everyone’s ears “please, help!” but no one hears; I’m the broken wings that can’t fly; the broken hand that can’t help.

I’m a king without a kingdom, a shepherd without sheep. I’m the dream that can’t be achieved, the nightmare that never ends.

I’m so young to know the secrets of life. I’m old enough to realize the pointless of this life. I’m not smart, but never claimed to be stupid.

I’m the one who doesn’t have to prove who he really is, simply because whether I know the truth of myself or not, I can never be what I want to be.