This is for me.

When I was born, I think someone clapped their hands over my eyes and turned me round and round till I didn't know where I began from. Which would explain my lack of orientation, my hopeless sense of direction, and the process of self-dicovery that I embark on every day, beginning almost from scratch. It would explain why even the simplest of life's lessons come as revelations to me, and why everything that I am, and all that I do, is a painstaking trudge back to spontaneity. It would also explain why I don, and discard, various personas in search of the one I was born with. Because I am incoherence personified, and chaos thrives in me. To reach back to who I was, when I was nothing else, is the reason why I'm writing this. 18 years of my life have passed by in half-hearted attempts at resolving my identity. However, 18 is not a time for ennui. Neither was 17, or 16, but ennui is self-sustaining. I hope to break this circle, and unravel myself, for once and for all. I may find stifled genius, or draw a blank, but I will still have found something.