Who?

Living here means being without identity. My language is being phased out. Even I don't often read it. Obviously, I blog in my second language. My nation is the historical monster, bent under guilt. My country is so multi-everything that it is nothing. My leaders are either well-intentioned but clueless or corrupt. My gender? We are abused and neglected. The men in my world? Some are confused by our power. Others find it beautiful, but they are few. The list goes on.

So who am I? Do I identify with any of this? Yes. This is who I am. No. I am more.

Many are raging, singing, writing, politicking, talk showing, conferencing, dialogueing, chatting, blogging, arting, playing, rhetoricking about this. New text about all things mentioned is being generated to promote, criticise, advertise, analyse, celebrate and denegrate. I am no closer to knowing who I am.

I do know this: I like who I am. Your problem if you don't.