As sophomore year is going to start soon, I took some time to reflect on last semester. Early last semester, my English professor gave us an assignment that sounded simple at first: define yourself in just a few sentences. Most of us shrugged it off—until we realized the challenge wasn’t writing but choosing. How do you compress a whole person, with all their layers and contradictions, into a couple of lines?

That assignment stayed with me. Because the truth is, there isn’t one version of who we are. We shift, sometimes subtly and other times drastically, depending on where we are and who we’re with. At home, I’m a son. Around friends, a friend. In class, a student. Each space calls for a slightly different version of me—not out of inauthenticity, but out of understanding. Out of care. We wear different versions of ourselves like jackets suited to the weather. Not because we’re hiding, but because we know one coat doesn’t fit every season.

A few weeks ago, I found myself talking to my dad about what to say when meeting new people—what parts of myself to lead with. And it hit me: most people aren’t really looking for the full story. They just want the piece that fits their picture. A parent wants their child. A sibling wants a sibling. A friend wants a friend. A colleague wants a reliable teammate. Everyone sees you through the role they need you to play.

I used to think this kind of shapeshifting was dishonest. If you’re not showing every part of yourself, isn’t that hiding? But over time, I’ve come to see it differently. It's not about hiding—it’s about holding. Holding parts of yourself back because not every setting deserves your full vulnerability. Not every room is built to carry the weight of your entire story. And maybe that's okay. Maybe we don’t need to be everything, everywhere, all at once.

The realization became even clearer when I noticed something small: my accent. When I speak Hindi or Gujarati with my family, my voice shifts. The cadence, the softness—it all flows out without thinking. But the moment I’m with friends, that version of me disappears. Not because I’m trying to erase it, but because it doesn’t belong in that context. And that’s the beauty of it. We change unconsciously when the setting calls for it. When we try to force that change, it doesn’t land. It feels artificial.

For a long time, I was chasing this ideal version of myself—one that could be the same person no matter the room. But maybe that’s not the goal. Maybe the goal is to remain rooted even as you shift. To let different parts of you show without losing the thread that ties them all together. It’s not about consistency in behavior, but in intention. In knowing who you are, even as that looks different through the lens of someone else’s expectations.

We’re not static definitions. We’re essays still being written. Some lines bold, others crossed out, and many still waiting to be lived. If I had to answer that professor’s question again, I’d still write: I am not one definition. I am many.

But maybe I’d add a footnote this time. Something about how my Hindi accent shows up only at home, or how I somehow become both the quietest and loudest version of myself depending on the group. Maybe even about how I keep trying to chase “one true version” of me, only to find that the chase is the point.

Because here’s the truth: life is less about nailing down a single, polished identity and more about learning which parts of yourself to bring forward when the moment calls. It’s less like wearing a mask and more like being a DJ—switching tracks, changing tempo, but keeping the same rhythm underneath it all.

So maybe I don’t need to stress about being the same “me” in every room. Maybe it’s enough to know that whichever version shows up—son, student, friend, or something in between—they’re all still me. And if that means I’m a little inconsistent, a little messy, maybe even a little confusing at times… then good. That’s proof I’m alive, still editing, still improvising.

And honestly, I wouldn’t want the final draft just yet. Where’s the fun in that?