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Description
My name is Celeste. That is it. I don’t have a last name.
Who am I? I suppose that you, like everyone else, would like to know all about me. It seems to be a formality when you meet someone to ask them general questions about themselves, you know, so you can get to know them better. What do you like to do? Where do you live?
Well, here is the thing: Those questions stump me, because, in reality, I don’t know who I am.
I know what you are thinking. How can someone possibly not know who they are? That’s insane! But I am sure that there are at least a few people out in the wide world who are like me and who have my problem.
Problem. That’s the wrong word. What I have is not really a problem. It comes in useful sometimes, and I rather like being able to do it, as it offers me so many more perspectives on life. The only issues I have with it is that because of it, details about my background and family become mysterious and entirely uncertain. I lose track of things and I forget things.I don’t even know how old I am or the day I was born. I don’t know what I started out as. I don’t know who my parents are or why they left me in the woods, my current residence.
I have thought up many conjectures about my life but I’m never certain about them. I have been thinking lately that I must have started out as a human, since that is what I seem to become most often. I also thought for a while that I must have been born in the spring, since I seem to grow the most at that time. But I quickly squashed that idea, since it occurred to me that it could just be a yearly growth spurt.
The one thing that I am absolutely certain of is that my name is Celeste. The one precious memory that I have from my childhood is a female voice saying my name over and over again. I am absolutely certain that the female must be my mother. At first her voice is calm, sweet and gentle, exactly what I would think a mothers voice must sound like. But then it becomes faster, more urgent and almost tearful. Then, suddenly, mid-syllable, it stops. Her voice has been the source of many nightmares. I know that there is something that happens in the nightmares, something that always wakes me up. I can never strain my memory enough to remember what it is.
Sometimes I try to think back to one of my earlier memories to see if I can remember anything before it, something that will give me a hint, any hint, about my past. I never can.
As I grow older, my desire to find out who I am deepens. I cannot stand living without knowing where I came from. It has become an obsession with me now.
I have to find out who I am. I know that there is someone out there who can help me figure out everything. I don’t want it to be a mystery anymore. I don’t want to be kept in the dark by my own life.
The objective of most quests or adventures, more often than not, is to find someone else or something. My quest is different. I am going on a quest to find myself.