I wish I could describe myself to you, I really do. I wish everything was simple enough to put into words. But words are nothing without the ideas behind them, and frankly I have no idea about anything anymore. I don't know who I am. To be honest, you probably know more than I do. I am a stranger to myself, an alien that has invaded my own body. Is it real? Who determines the real and unreal, and where did they get such authority to do so? And from whom? Where would be all be without social etiquette, the guidelines which we follow so diligently. What if there was no society? Where would we be then? Would we be sane? Insane? And once again, who would be left to determine? Ah but we are, in fact, in a smothering theatrical society. Everyone is an actor playing a role, painting their faces, practicing their lines, so obsessed with impressing everyone around them that they forget who they are. Lose their identity. And what about backstage? What about when they go to their dressing room and take their faces off, take off their costumes and forget about everything. When they are completely alone with themselves and only themselves, do they remember who they are. Solitude. Isolation. Despair. Only when you are truly alone can you truly understand yourself. And here i am, still lost in myself trying to understand.