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According to Italian writer Pirandello's philosophy, we all exist depending on what others want to see in ourselves. Nobody is a one-sided individual, we are fragmented beings all built on people's perceptions. What is true for some, could be completely false for some other. We're created to be labeled several times, daily. Each definition is incogruous, being at the same time accurate and inaccurate. Only fools can be whatever they want, following their ambitions and tastes. Madness is the death of certainties.

Who am I?

I am what others want me to be.

I'm often labeled as:
unpleasant, gentle, quiet, ambivalent, clumsy, selfish, friendly, creative, enigmatic, restless, misunderstood, secretive, ironic, intelligent, bitchy, gloomy, disillusioned, cynical, whimsical, suspicious, disturbing, hilarious, stubborn, pessimistic, hypochondriac, lovable, nihilist, shy, introverted, snob, lazy, moody, shy, unforgiving, boring, reliable, brilliant, na´ve, abulic, whiny, mean, anxious, idealistic, emotional, morbid, interesting, cold, vicious, phoney, easily distracted, rude, generous, psychotic, insecure, angsty, pathetic, weird, beautiful, tolerant, paranoid, cruel.

Whoever can label my persona. I won't escape that nor I want to.
I exist in others' words. What words can't define, doesn't really exist.

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