HiveComb

The question “Who are you?” sparks a whole lot of different answers. It goes beyond the literal, our names, where we come from, or what we do. At some moments in our lives, we might feel like we’ve finally discovered ourselves and what we stand for. But life, being what it is, has a way of shaping us into new persons every day. Our names and looks might not change as much, but our views, our perspectives, and our beliefs surely do. Every day, we’re exposed to new things that shift who we think we used to be.

Sometimes when I meet familiar faces from years back, people I thought I knew so well, I’m taken aback when I see them not acting the way they used to. Maybe the once hot-headed person I could barely have a normal conversation with is now calm and inviting. And sometimes it’s the opposite , someone I knew as gentle and reserved suddenly has this edge I never saw coming. Some people don’t even leave you to wonder, they tell you outright, “I’m not that person you used to know.” And honestly, when you spend time with them, you realize they’re right.

It always leaves me reflecting about myself too. The Hive Learners prompt asked us to look back fifteen to twenty years of our lives. But for me, I can’t really go that far back, unless I start imagining my infant years. What I can do is look a few years back, and even then, I realize I am not exactly the same person I used to be.

I’ve kept a journal almost all my life, and one of my favorite things to do is flip through old pages. Every time, it feels like I’m reading a stranger’s story. Each year carried its own version of me. The things I wrote down, the way I reacted to situations, the dreams I had then, they feel so far away from who I am now. Sometimes, I laugh at how dramatic I sounded. Other times, I cringe in disappointment at how poorly I handled something. Then there are the moments I feel a spark of pride, or even sadness for the way life turned out back then. The truth is, nothing has ever stayed the same, not even my handwriting on those pages. Some are so neat and clear, others so rushed and messy I even ask myself, “Did I really write this?” But of course, I did.

Years back, I would have described myself as “over expressive,” especially with words. I always had something to say. But now, I’ve grown into more of a “sit and observe” person, someone who speaks less but sees more. I used to feel like my life was scattered, like I didn’t have it all together. But as I grew, patterns were matched. Missing pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place, and the picture of who I am became clearer.

Like everyone, I’ve had my turning points, moments that shaped and reshaped parts of me. Times I had to bend to life just to keep moving. Yet in all of that, I’m glad I haven’t lost myself completely. I might have left versions of the old me behind, but I’ve kept the core of who I am. If I ever got to meet my past self, I don’t think I’d be unrecognizable. Changed, yes, but still familiar.

I see myself as clay molded by life, snapped and reshaped like a potter works on a piece until it finds form. Growth, for me, is that choice: you either become better than your past self or worse. And I’d like to think I’m better. No, I’ll rephrase that , I’m definitely better than I was a few years back. I’ve gained experiences that widened my view. I no longer see life through a fish-eye lens. I’m grateful for opportunities that once passed me by but later found their way back to me. I’m grateful for the people who pushed me, knowingly or unknowingly, into becoming someone better. And even for the pain, the mistakes, the tears, I’m grateful. Because all of it creates balance between who I was and who I am now.

Growth never really stops until one takes their last breath. That’s why I’m still excited for the “more” that is to come. Yes, life can be uncertain. One part of me knows I don’t have control over the next second, but another part of me is eager to step into it. Hopefully in the future, I’ll look back on this piece the same way I look back at my journals, l and be proud. Proud of how much I’ve changed without losing myself in the process. That, to me, would be such a beautiful feat.