Who Am I
My best friend doesn’t look like either of her parents. It is something that has plagued her, her whole life. The ironic (or interesting) twist to the story is that when she was young, she looked just like her sister. As they aged they looked increasingly different. This brings up a lot of interesting questions that cannot really be resolved with a DNA Test. Both of her parents are now dead, and it seems that not having the parents that you think you actually have is something that should be confessed on the death bed. A person wants to know who their parents are don’t they? But it also begs the question about judging a book by its cover, or a picture speaks a thousand words, or some other bit of nonsense. Why is this plaguing my mind? I wonder where I get my intelligence from, I wonder where I get my feet from, I wonder if I have inherited any rare genetic condition that early treatment could help prevent. I also worry that worrying won’t help at all. There are so many questions in the world today that we want to know the answer to and so many answers that will never have questions. For my friend, it is funny how her looks inspire a set of daily questions that speak to answers that are buried now. People like to guess her ethnic identity and invariably they make wrong assumptions. As far as she knows she is from Essex and not the Andes.
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