“Who are you?” This is the question. Who we are, the history we carry, the places we have passed through, the people we love, the small things that become our habits and the roads we journey toward. Every ordinary one of us, passing through time and holding hands with another who moves through a different time, will always carry traces of the time we passed through together. And the more time unfolds, the harder it becomes to remain together, as each life must continue in its own direction, yet still we hold on.

Then, we realize that everything in this world was designed with us in mind: the random stranger, the young man with the limp, every time you see him, you wonder about his story. The aged homeless woman at the bus station, were they ever normal people? Even the air we breathe at 14:02, the ground we stand on, they all pass by with us. The ones we gave up, the ones who are on our laps.

Each of us walks through different times, yet we hold on to the same path, our journeys touching for a while. The fates we will not endure together, the histories we will never share. But for brief moments, we touch the same road, before continuing on.

Amid all its chaos, the world reminds us once more that we are not just many, we are many kinds of many.