While exploring the essence of our human existence, the most elusive question we can ask of ourselves is perhaps the most fundamental: Who am I, truly? Not in the sense of profession, nationality, or even character traits, but in terms of the raw, unfiltered core of our being—what part of what we think, believe, and pursue originates from a place untouched by the hands of others. The modern individual, celebrated as autonomous and self-aware, may in fact be stitched together from layers of inherited codes, unconsciously absorbed from family, culture, and the digital world.
From our earliest breath, we are embedded in a system of expectations, customs, and subtle indoctrinations. Parents pass down not just language and values but also frameworks of what to fear, what to desire, and what to avoid. Siblings and early friendships reinforce certain behavioural norms, pushing us gently or aggressively into accepted roles. As children, we do not yet possess the cognitive tools to question or filter these influences; we absorb them like sponges. And so, long before we are aware of the notion of “self,” a blueprint has already been partially drawn for us.
The cultural environment intensifies this shaping. What is considered “normal,” “successful,” “respectable,” or even “possible” is dictated by the historical and social forces surrounding us. A child raised in a collectivist society may feel guilt for pursuing individual dreams, while another in a hyper-individualistic society may suppress the natural longing for belonging or sacrifice. These currents are not imposed through brute force but through gentle repetition, through stories, songs, media, and social cues so embedded they become invisible. The voice of society becomes the background hum of our inner monologue.
Social media has added a new, potent layer to this conditioning. It creates globalised aesthetics of happiness, success, beauty, and wisdom that become aspirational templates. Even the act of “being authentic” is now stylised and performative, tailored for digital affirmation. Are we choosing our paths, or are we selecting from pre-designed templates of what is trendy, acceptable, or “hashtag-worthy”? What seems to be our own desire may simply be the result of algorithmic suggestion shaped to look like free will.
But amid this inherited mosaic, is there a pure thread—something that belongs to us, born not from absorption but from deep interior excavation? Can the self exist independently of its context? Perhaps it can, but the journey to locate it is not a passive one. It demands conscious deconstruction: asking with honesty, Where does this thought come from? before acting on it. It requires solitude, introspection, and sometimes rebellion against all we’ve been taught to believe, feel, or want.
The philosopher Søren Kierkegaard once wrote, “The most common form of despair is not being who you are.” The tragedy lies in believing we are living authentically when, in fact, we are fulfilling scripts written by others. To escape this despair is not necessarily to isolate oneself from all influence—which is neither practical nor desirable—but to develop a heightened awareness of the difference between what is merely familiar and what is true for us. To differentiate resonance from repetition.
This internal discernment is not instantaneous. It emerges from experience: from failed ventures, deep love, personal loss, solitude, and the existential friction of life. Through these, we can begin to filter inherited assumptions and build a worldview that is not borrowed but forged. Such a worldview is quieter but firmer. It doesn’t always align with societal expectations. It may contradict family advice or trend analyses. But it has the unmistakable scent of authenticity.
Consider a person who has always believed they must pursue corporate success because their parents did, and because society glorifies it. After years of dissatisfaction, they retreat into silence, ask difficult questions, and gradually realise their truest fulfillment lies in education, or craftsmanship, or activism. This transition may be seen by others as regression or irrationality, but for them, it marks the birth of a self-directed existence. Such a life may not shine in mainstream narratives, but it radiates inward integrity.
On the contrary, a life never interrogated may be externally impressive but internally hollow. “He who does not think for himself does not think at all,” said Oscar Wilde. Passive acceptance, even of seemingly positive ideals, reduces the self to a puppet of its environment. And when moments of crisis arrive, such a self may collapse, lacking an inner foundation. Only the examined self can withstand the storms of life with coherence and direction.
This is not an invitation to narcissism or radical individualism. It is a call for clarity: to align what we do, think, and believe with what we, in our deepest awareness, find to be meaningful. It’s about making room for original thought, born not from rebellion for its own sake, but from mindful, experiential confrontation with existence. True authenticity is not loud—it is precise. It doesn’t demand attention, but it refuses pretense.
In the end, we may never fully separate what is “ours” from what is “theirs.” But in striving to do so, we awaken a deeper presence within ourselves. We begin to live not as echoes but as voices. Not as borrowed copies but as original drafts. The journey is lifelong, but the first step is to ask, before each belief and action: Is this truly me—or simply what I’ve been told to be?