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I say there is, and at the same time, there is no “I” or “me.” Everything connected to “I” or “me” is simply a collection of fragmented memories, categorized and tied together by the mind, which tries to make sense of identity. Questions like “Why do I exist?” “What am I?” or “Who am I?” arise from this collection of things trying to define its own chaos and deal with the lack of understanding of its purpose. This realization is the core of what will be addressed here.

To begin, let’s explore what the “I” is. At some point, someone decided to give a baby a name, which was written in documents and used to address that human being. For example, the name “Kajetan” is a label assigned by others and stored in their own memory and documents. If that memory were erased, the brain wouldn’t remember its own name assigned to it. Hence, a name is a product of memory, and memory is tied to the past. Psychologically, there is no past without memory. While events occur chronologically, the “psychological past” exists only as memory within the brain. I hope this makes sense if you’ve reflected on these matters yourself. For those who haven’t, you may not understand what is being said here.

So, what else constitutes the “I”? One has found out, that it is also formed through experiences and reactions to those experiences, all recorded by the brain. These experiences and reactions become memories. For example, if someone felt anger or went through a difficult breakup, these events become memories. Later, the brain recalls them and forms an identity around them: “I am a person who experienced heartbreak,” or “I am someone who gets angry.” The remembered experiences of the past create the “I”—a collection of internal histories, relationships, and places.

Age becomes part of this “I.” A number based on a calendar created by humans to structure time—”I am X years old”—becomes an element of identity. Biological associations also contribute: “I am young,” “I am muscular,” or “I am slim.” The body becomes the “I.” Similarly, the face in the mirror becomes “I.” A face may change due to an accident, and the mind adapts, saying, “I am now disfigured”, always attaching itself to the image of the organism one is tied to.

Likes and dislikes further shape this “I”: “I like these movies,” or “I dislike that political party.” Skills and habits also contribute: “I am a musician,” or “I am a skilled boxer.” This rigid “I” becomes a bag of memories and associations with the brains capacity, with ideas and material things, selectively including what it identifies as “me” and excluding what is not.

To this mind, mind of the writer of this article, the “I” is an illusion—a fragmented, limited construct. This illusion is being unveiled, broken down. While the “I” functions in daily life, once its nature is realized, it loses its grip. There is no “Kajetan” or “Kai Song” beyond labels used for communication. These labels are necessary for societal structures—social systems, economies, and industries—but ultimately, the “I” is shallow and confined. Memory, by its nature, can never encompass the whole. If you’ve observed your own habits, comfort zones, and the content of your mind, you might notice how they impose limitations on themselves: “I am not interested in this,” or “I live in my own world which is this, but not that other one.” Always in division, from this center of “me,” it expands only based on what it already knows.

Does this mean one should get rid of the “I” completely? The writer of this text sees that the structure of “I” cannot be entirely discarded. Memory is essential for functioning. Without memory, the body would not know where ones place of shelter is, how to return to it, or how to communicate through language—a system which relies so heavily on memory. A mind without the capability of memory and comparison is also a mind unable to pursue advancement in technology.

So, what am I? The writer says there is no “I.” There is simply the fact of a biological organism typing these words with what we call fingers. But there is no illusion of “I” or “me”, other than what it actually is, a collection of vast amounts of memory and associations, likes and dislikes, a bag of ideas and concepts, all bundled up together in one system—the brain itself.

The only illusion of “I” exists in the minds of others. When the writer meets someone, they perceive him through their own lens: “Kai, my friend,” or “Kajetan, my colleague.” These are merely images, fragments of perception, never the full or accurate picture of the whole, which can never be known in its entirety.