My name is John. Ok, so maybe that's not the name my parents gave me, maybe it's not the name my friends call me by, and maybe it's not even the name that is on my driver's license and passport. Despite all of this, my name is still John. I know this because of the two friendly local guys who sit at the base of Suleiman Too between 6:40 and 6:50 every morning and who helpfully call out my real name to me as I run by them on my way down the mountain back to my apartment. At first, in my ignorance, I wanted to stop and correct them of what I perceived as their error in identifying me. However, as time passed and the ritual repeated itself, I began to wonder if maybe, in their ignorance of what was enscribed on my birth certificate, they had perhaps unwittingly stumbled onto some deeper truth about my identity. Maybe in this time and this place I no longer present to the world as Bryan, but instead as John. And if, in reality, a name serves as no more than a particular grouping of sounds in the air or scratches on paper meant to identify an individual to those around him, then who was I to judge that my name was not John. Being trapped inside my own mind and body and unable to truly perceive how I appear to others, I in fact am the worst judge of what my name should be. So, my name is John.
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Deep Thought of the Day:
"To live in mankind is far more than to live in a name." Unknown