It is an absolute paradox that a person can change a lot but also not change at all at the same time.
This in itself seems to defy the very logic of existence, yet here we are, living proof of this contradiction.
I happened to stumble on an old school friend who didn't recognize me at first because I spoke differently to him.
Here, differently doesn't mean my voice has changed but more so the content and format didn't match what my past self—that he was so familiar with—would've uttered.
I told him that people evolve mostly via experiences, some of which can be sought out through the individual.
But the recognition in his eyes came slowly, like watching an old photograph develop in a darkroom.
My younger self was undoubtedly more reckless with words, throwing them around without much considering where they might land.
That version of me saw the world in sharper contrasts and believed in the permanence of temporary feelings.
A distinct memory that comes to mind was of a heated debate about the 'correct' way to load a dishwasher.
It is distinct due to it been waged with an intensity usually reserved for geopolitical crises, probably.
My friend remembered (maybe too much!) of that person.
But here I was, this seemingly newer self, choosing words more carefully, speaking with measured consideration and finding comfort in nuance rather than certainty.
I think nowadays I'm viewing most things by default from a perspective that embraces complexity and acknowledges multiple truths.
I'm just not anymore in the business of proving a point by any means necessary. Because there are multiple points and each point often carries an element of truth.
Why fixated on the elephant's tusk when I can behold the whole elephant, so to speak?
Now, this transformation wasn't dramatic enough to be called a metamorphosis.
Because I did stumbled and fumbled through countless missteps and awkward silences to arrive at this point.
But nonetheless, I think it was profound enough to render me unrecognizable to someone who once knew me intimately.
The past self he remembered was authentic, undoubtedly real, but to me it felt more like looking at someone else's photograph.
I could see the resemblance, trace the lineage of thoughts and habits only to realize on the background of it all that there was a disconnect.
Which is somewhat akin to trying to claim ownership of a childhood drawing that no longer reflects your artistic sensibilities.
What's interesting to me is how my future self is already seeping in the present and exists in potential, shaped by decisions I haven't yet made, conversations I haven't yet had, books I haven't yet read.
That future version of me could look back at that day's encounter with the same bemused detachment with which I now regard my younger incarnation.
And then there's the old self, the self that carries the weight of all these accumulated experiences.
I'm sure this self is the most forgiving, having witnessed the countless ways plans unravel and intentions shift, yet also the most discerning, recognizing the enduring core amidst all the superficial changes.
But I do sometimes wonder will that version of me feel a thread of continuity running through all these iterations, or will each self feel like a separate person who happened to inherit the same body and memories?
The stranger thing is that change and stasis coexist within us.
Even though my manner of speaking has evolved, my fundamental curiosity about people remained unchanged.
It's just that now it's more in the realm of quiet observation and empathetic listening and less about adamantly asserting my own opinions.
I now understood that I really do have two ears and one mouth.
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