Who am I?
I’m a man.
I’m a boy.
I’m a child.
I’m a son, a father, a brother, a cousin, a grandfather, a grandson.
I’m a student, a teacher, an electrician, a cook, a cleaner, a builder, a gardener, a strategist.
I’m a friend, a lover.
I’m a nasty person, a kind person.
I’m a philosopher, a psychologist, a dealer, a smoker, a junkie, a pleasure seeker.
I’m a film-goer, a pensioner, a transplantee, a traveller, a kitchen builder, a rubbish man.
I’m a partner, a divorcee, a linguist, a neighbour, an employee, a boss, a manager.
I’m a wireman, a generous person, a greedy person, a business developer, a director, a salesman, a marketeer.
I’m an author, an administrator, a lorry driver, a cyclist, a Kung-Fu student, a consultant, a householder.
I’m a reader, an analyst, a website designer, a project manager, a pet owner, a clothing designer, a walker.
I’m an artist, a model, a prototype worker, a market stallholder, a team leader, a security man, a cloakroom attendant.
I’m a computer builder, a cleaner, a waiter, a barman, a blogger, a burger cook, a camper.
I’m a hospital porter, an encyclopedia salesman, a seller of leather goods out of a suitcase.
I’m a neighbourhood helper, a prison visitor, a course facilitator.
I’m an examiner, an event manager, a masseur, an information scientist.
I’m a card player, a patient, a crane electrician, a TV-studio builder, a labourer, a demolition worker, a fettler, a mechanic, an estimator, a musician.
I’m a Swiss citizen, an Irish citizen, a world citizen.
I’m me.
And these are only some of the roles I’ve played. There are countless more — some forgotten, some brief, some defining, some that passed like a breath of wind.
So who am I, really?
What I’ve discovered is this: in every one of those roles, in every chapter and every reinvention, I was always me. Something constant has been quietly present through every identity, every mistake, every joy, every direction change.
What is that continuous part?
I am a human being experiencing the gift of life.
That’s it. Simple. Clear. Undeniable.
It isn’t something that can be described fully — it’s something to be lived. To be enjoyed. To be recognised in the space between the first breath and the last.
Between those two breaths, I’ve been given the opportunity to see so many things, meet so many people, and live more lives than one lifetime seems big enough to hold. And the greatest fortune of all is that I learnt, reasonably early, to know who I am.
And for that, I thank the teachings of Prem Rawat, who helped me discover me — not the roles, not the labels, not the stories, but the living presence that has been here all along.
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