Random scribbles

"The more one says about oneself to the world at large, the less likely it is that any of it is true.

What your Orkut profile says about you is merely who/what you want to be, and not really who you are."

So said my esteemed friend's Orkut "about me".

And esteemed he was for this boggled my mind.

Is everything we do and say pretentious? Is nothing what is really there? Am I who I think I am? Or am I something different? Is what I'm writing my actual thoughts? Or am I writing something I want you to think I'm thinking? Do I introspect? Or do I WANT to introspect? Which me is real? Is there a real me or a real you? Is anything real?

Then it popped.

What is real? Is what we see real? I didn't think so. If you were walking in the dark and saw a rope and mistook it as a snake, what is real? The snake or the rope? The rope? But for the one second that you thought it was a snake, wasn't the snake real? So what differentiates that which is real? What makes the rope real and not the snake? Is it that, later, everyone told you it was a rope, hence the rope? Then if today everyone told you you were God, is your being God real?

Or is it the constancy of the rope being a rope and the snake having been real for a very little time? Is it lifespan that defines reality? In that case isn't everything unreal?

back to the first question. Am I really what I think I am? Or am I something I want to think I am? Does anyone know who anyone is?

But again we think what is real and what is unreal?




No one really knows.