Fog

Who I say I am isn't who I am. I try to be as honest as I can when people ask me, even when I do utter a word or two about where I come from, or what I'm like and what I like. That's my story though, not who I am.

My girlfriend said she likes to be many people. So anyone who knows her, doesn't really know her, including me - they know faces of her, but after she goes home, she's back to being a fog, the people she's worn discarded.

I used to think that being many-faced was unethical, and I tried for some uniformity, but I accept that it isn't possible. Different situations will pull out different coin sides. Who you may see talking with friends is going to be different to who you may see teaching English. It's not that I'm being dishonest - that was my gripe with it, that it's fakeness - but rather, real. I don't present myself in just one situation, so I don't just have one appearance, one hand of cards and method to play them.

Astounding things may arise from the fog. I surprise myself sometimes, too. It's worth living with the acceptance that yes, I have tendencies and preferences, but I also have the conviction and ability to go being those comforts. Is this reinvention? Only if previously it was definition. If not, then it's a continuing, an expansion. Motion.

Fog rises, and falls, and rolls over landscapes.