Passport or Me?

It was not the most conducive atmosphere to be asked an existential question, but I heard  it through….

Standing completely disorientated, among a warren of uniform grey cubby holes, in an obscure piece of real estate that had once been part of a mill that churned out rolls of gaudy cotton fabric! I faced my interrogator, a henna-haired disinterested women, who stared unblinkingly at me and then at my expired [therefore useless] passport and asked

‘How do I know that this is you?’

I could feel myself falling down a huge black hole…. And I was Alice in Wonderland, staring at the grim Caterpillar, with unblinking eyes [did he have outrageous orange fuzz of hair on his head?] stared and asked

‘Who are you?’

Whew! How do I cope with this reality?

I had this urge to yell ‘you don’t! And neither do I! I change, grow and metamorphosise each day … This is not me, it was… you are looking at history buried deep inside of me, a wisp of a memory captured in a moment of photographic need!

But instead, I extended my driver’s license and politely suggested ‘I think this might help’

She shook her brightly coloured head and smiled—

She saw a calm woman clutching a file of documents that defined her existence….bills and bank statements; but she completely missed the wild fury of a woman’s mind detonating bombs of frustration at the parameters that seemingly controlled her life!

It’s amazing how a sterile government office, with inane and routine questions can unleash a manic hunt for one’s identity… is it that part of me that tingles with a sense of loss and pain every time I hear that someone has blown someone else to bits somewhere in the world

Or  is it the stoic faced woman who pays her taxes and social dues and remains just somebody a tiny isolated part of the world ……

Am I me? That’s the question on my mind

This entry was posted in general, philosophy, thought and emotions, women. Bookmark the permalink.

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