A sharp snap of a branch welcomes me to the soft, shining sun and the cool, gentle spring breeze. Blobs of light fill the empty void of a closed eye. Slowly the blobs of light fade, and I come to my senses as I gaze into the eyes of the sun. Blinded by the light, I close my eyes and collect myself. I eventually manage to stand in a wobbly stance, feeling as if I have been hit by a train and stuck to its wheel as it spun and spun and spun. After a moment, I look around and see that I am standing in a field of grass; behind me I hear the sound of boots falling onto the ground. Alarmed, I turn around and see a man wearing a beat-up pair of boots and a plain shirt, dirtied from a day’s work. As he approaches me I take a step back fearing the man with the beat-up boots and plain shirt would will me.
“Easy there fella,” he says as he approaches cautiously “I don’t mean any harm, I just want to talk,” He stops and so do I. We stand there staring into each other’s eyes for a moment until he asks, “Where are you from? Do you know where you are? What do they call you?” He pauses for a minute before he asked, “do you know who you are?”
I stand and think. Who am I? Who am I? After a sometime I manage to say, “I, I don’t know, I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything.”
“That my friend is a problem. Come on you must be hungry, when you remember your name tell me. Come with me, don’t worry I won’t hurt ya,” the man says as he signals for me to follow.

I thought about the situation, “Who am I?” The question, a streak of lightning through the night sky flashes through my mind. My inability to answer that question brings pain upon me like a lightning bolt upon any man. The answer surrounding the question is a void; the void of the night sky after the lightning strikes.
I follow him through the field of grass. I don’t know anything about myself and I think as I walk, what is a name to a man? Does it show who he is? Does it show what he was? And what about me? What is a name to me? Then I remember I don’t have a name, or an identity. What is it that makes me, me? Who am I?
I ponder upon the question for many moments and as I walk up to the man’s car. He enters and motions for me to follow. I follow the man with the beat-up boots and the plain shirt into his car. He turns on the radio and a man with a raspy voice sings a song with a name I do not know.
The man with the beat-up boots and the plain shirt starts to drive and asks me, “So, you got any family, friends, or someone that you remember? Do you have any important memories that might help?”
I don’t know what to say. The only thing I say is, “I have nothing,” because I am nothing.

“Of course you have something. Everybody has something,” the man replies with his eyes still fixated on the road.
We continue along the road at a steady pace. I stare out the window of the passenger seat and watch as the world passes by in a blur. “Who am I? What is my name? Where do I come from?” All questions desperately in need of answers. I continued to ponder the question of who I was. Every couple of moments I see flashes in my mind of images that might have been my memories. Like the landscape of the world through the window, the images seem like a blur. We drive for what seems like an hour and a half before a town comes into sight. I see the people of the town, many men wearing their suits and ties. They all look the same, every single thing indistinguishable from the next. The men wearing their suits and ties, they all look the same. Fleeting from my sight through the window of the car. Who are those men in their suits and ties? What am I to those men? Am I a fleeting moment through a car window?

The car finally stops and the man with the beat-up boots and the plain shirt leads me to a dinner. I walk through the door after him and we sit down on the old and worn wooden chairs set across from each other. He picks up the menu and looks quizzically at it deciding on what to eat. He puts down the menu and looks at me, “Are you gonna order something, or are you just gonna keep on starin?”
“Sorry,” I reply as I pick up the menu and decide on something to get. After a moment the waitress comes and takes our order. I look at her and ask myself, what makes her different from every other waitress?
The man turns to me again and asks, “So, I’ll ask you again you got any family? Friends? Anybody?”
“No.” I try to remember who I am. Who am I? The question reverberates throughout my thoughts. Who am I? Do I have a name? Do I have anything? Was I anything? Am I anything? “I don’t know who I am.” Because I am nothing but a man, a man just like every other man, wearing a suit and a tie.
With a sigh of disappointment the man continues, “Well, let me help you with your problem.”
“How? You don’t know anything about me? I don’t even know anything about me!”
“You start somewhere and take one step at a time.”
“Where do we start?”
“From the beginning.” On that note, he stands up and leaves the money on the table for the eaten food. The man exits the restaurant and motions for me to follow. I get up and awkwardly head towards the exit. We make our way to his car and we start to drive down the road.
“Where are we going?” I asked
“To where I found you, the field of grass.”
“What are we going to find there?”
“We are not going to find anything, but you are going to find yourself, what makes you, you.”
The man drives along the road in silence and again I saw the men in their suits and ties. This time they seemed clearer, I could see how they each one of them was same, but also that in his own way each man was different. Each one had a story, a different story from mine and a different story that made each man wearing the same suit and the same tie different.
We continued along the roads and as we continued the fog clouding my memory slowly began to disperse. I slowly began to recall my past life. One piece at a time I began to fit the pieces of myself together. I saw how the landscape that looked like a blur became a clear picture of a countryside with rolling green hills and tranquil trees.
However, I encountered a new fog. Many questions arose. Many questions without an answer. What was once blurred became clear but what was once clear became blurred. Maybe this is what it means to be me. A man wearing a suit and a tie, who has lived many years; years that have differed from the years of every other man.
But I have lost something that cannot be found. Something, important. Something that is me and yet at the same time not me. Something so inexplicably important that was me but now, is not me anymore.
Do I really know who I am? Who am I? Am I the man I see in the reflection of the window?
“Yes I am. I am me.”