There is little simplicity in seeking a definition of ‘me’. Clinging to clichés of the cliques and the categories of quirks and pastimes and playlists. We are a generation of online expression; of peer and personal monitoring; of choices stapled to us like flyers to the forehead of ‘this is a part of you now’. What are we left with when our temperament is gone? What remains when all is bare? What is my resting-heartbeat? Is self a city and are the streets the people I have loved? While this soul-search is not new – my mum echoing ‘I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up’ – I think that we are an anxious age of humanity. Where, self-conscious and scared, we will seek only safe places and people. I fear backwards segregation. In this need-to-know self, we place friends and strangers in boxes. However lost, I do believe there is peace to be found in one definite commonality, in the silence and still, in flesh or spirit. That is, just, that we are. Maybe there we connect. Maybe there, the soul can rest. Maybe there, we are enough. This is what I hope to express.