Proposing A New Freedom

"I suppose nobody will make identity of persons to consist in the soul's being united to the very same numerical particles of matter.  For if that is necessary to identity, it will be impossible, in that constant flux of the particles of our bodies, that any man should be the same person two days or two moments together." - John Locke

He awakes in the expected fashion: to semblances of his dreams drying up, being absorbed by the darkness he is emerging into. He feels himself forgetting. He remembers the dream’s characteristics, how engaged he was in one and how passive he was in another. He has forgotten his dream character’s names and looks but has retained the attitudes he experienced them with. He has found himself with vague, nomadic feelings. Pushing them from his consciousness, he begins his day. As is his daily habit his first action is towards a well-polished mirror. The mirror is resting on a table, located indiscriminately in an otherwise blank corner of his room. Approaching the mirror, he sets about studying his reflection. He likes the way he looks. In particular, he likes his eyes. He remembers an interview with a philosopher he once watched, in which the philosopher mentioned how the eyes never seem to change in one’s lifetime. One retains the eyes they have as a child while the rest of their body slowly changes. He wonders, looking into his eyes, if they are all that he can assuredly anchor his identity to.

Grown tired of admiring himself, he proceeds to pull out a large, leather photo album. He immediately flips to a page near the end where a series of photographs, all of his own face, are displayed side by side. Underneath each photo is a date. Each photo is arranged in chronological order, with the last photo in the series having yesterday’s date. It is this photo, the most recent, which he takes and holds up beside the mirror. He begins comparing the two photos, first himself and then himself, comparing all the features but the eyes. He searches both selves carefully until he finds a blemish on his own flesh which is not in the photo. It must have appeared overnight. He searches further but is unable to find another difference. His observations are recorded in a small notebook kept behind the mirror. Within this notebook his entries are all very neat, as if he put considerable care into each one. For every entry a date is written in the margin. He writes today's findings: size 2 blemish approx. 3 cm above left eye, slightly red. Hair growth.

His entry finished, he begins flipping through old entries, haphazardly reading about his face’s past. He reads about new hairs discovered in his eyebrows, about blemishes on his face and about his beard’s pioneering journey to claim territory. It is essentially no different than any other normal account of a young man going through puberty. All that is special about this notebook, and he will be the first to admit this, is that it exists. It is significant as a point of reference, as proof of the changes, but not for the details of the changes themselves.

He has finished his morning routine. He is outside, breathing in the air and feeling the sun. There is a breeze which makes him occasionally shiver but apart from this he is quite comfortable and content. He wonders what he should do today. He has lectures to attend, but he is not sure that is what he should do. He knows there is a girl who, he imagines, will be happy to see him, but again he is unsure if he would like to pay her a visit. He thinks about the jar of marijuana he saw in his living room, but dismisses the thought as quickly as he had invited it. He freezes, realizing he has no desire to do anything.

He does not understand himself. Like a celebrity, he knows his own features and general habits, but knows nothing about who he actually is. He feels like he has never had a chance to meet himself. He knows from his own experience that identity is a product of one’s face. He experiences every person he comes in contact with through their face. He looks at their face, he speaks to their face, and he understands his touch through its results manifested in the face. The problem with the face, and he can attest to this, is that it always changes. From instant to next his face changes, and along with it his only recourse to knowing himself. He wonders what his wants are, what he desires. He searches himself, introspectively listening to himself, and finds inward reflection is as problematic as outward; he is always changing.

A young woman approaches him; she looks familiar. He has no memory of her name, but immediately feels a certain attitude grow inside him. He looks to her like he looks to his dreams while awake in bed. She is from his past and so was related to a different face, to a different him. She greets him, calling him a name that seems vaguely familiar in the same way her face did. She is friendly towards him, much like, he has realized, the attitude he feels towards her. We must be friends he concludes. She has begun recounting a story of her and her roommates making a cake the night before. Through this story he learns her name to be Crystal. Engaging in conversation with Crystal, he finds himself walking with her towards a bus stop. It would seem they are going to the school together. ‘I guess I really do want to go to lectures today’ he concludes to himself.

He and Crystal split up on the busy bus. He is looking out the window, watching scenery pass him by. Again, it all seems familiar but distant. He feels like he grew up here as a child, and is now an old man passing by scenes he hasn’t seen for a long time. It all seems vaguely familiar to him. He begins to wonder how it is he knows anything at all. He knows he is different today than he has ever been. His investigations this morning proved such. He wonders, then, how it was he knew he had lectures, how he knows about the girl he contemplated visiting, even how he knows how to speak or walk. He wonders these things. He tries to picture the girl as an attempt to remember how he knows her. He draws a complete blank, recalling nothing about her but that she exists, and again, the attitude he has towards her. Suddenly he is gripped by panic; he doesn’t even know which lectures he has today.
The bus pulls up to a campus. He gets off and waving goodbye to Crystal starts walking. He walks through halls, looking at the different faces and doors which pass him by. He stops in front of one, and before having a chance to think about it, enters the room. People look at him without surprise. He knows he is in the right place.

He has grown hungry and it’s not long before he has found a food court. He has no money, and so he steals a sub wrapped in saran wrap. Finding after that he is thirsty he returns for a bottle of fruit juice. He has decided to return home. On his way towards the bus terminal he catches a glimpse of a woman who makes his heart flutter. He instantly alters his path to intersect her. She sees his approach and greets him with a big smile. They kiss. They make small talk, and he leaves her with a promise to call later. It was only after he had left that he realized he hadn’t caught her name or number. He walked on.

He awakes in the expected fashion: to semblances of his dreams drying up into the darkness he is emerging into. He sits in bed, feeling his dreams slip. A woman he is in love with, lectures, new friends, they are all washed away by the darkness of his room. He heads towards his mirror.

Outside, a girl waves hello and approaches him. He looks at her quizzically, trying to place her face to a name. She shows him a jacket she has just bought. All the girls on the team have one, she claims, giving him a quick twirl to show all sides off. He catches a glimpse of her sleeve, on which it says her name. “It looks very sharp Crystal” he says, proud of his investigative abilities. They walk on together, and as she talks about some cake her and her roommates shared the night before, he realizes; he does not understand who he actually is.

written by Ben Bousada