At first glance, the thought that we are no longer who we were seems troubling. It feels like a rejection of all we value about our former selves, our identities, and our sense of continuity. However, the idea that "there was no such thing as a coherent human personality" draws me to its truth. This idea and quotation are from Sebastian Faulks' novel Charlotte Gray:
“When you are forty, you have no cell in your body that you had at eighteen. It was the same with your character. Memory is the only thing that binds you to earlier selves; for the rest, you become an entirely different being every decade or so, sloughing off the old persona, renewing, and moving on. You are not who you were, nor who you will be”.
Biology provides an intriguing analogy to this concept. Our cells are continually regenerating themselves. Skin cells regenerate about once a month, red blood cells every 120 days, and even our most resilient organ, the liver, replaces itself within a few years. However, some cells, such as the neurons in our brain's cerebral cortex, survive our entire lives. Even so, most of my cells from eighteen have vanished, replaced by new ones with their own wear and renewal cycle. It serves as a sobering reminder that, despite our physiological rejuvenation, certain essential elements endure. They provide the foundation of our physical and possibly metaphysical existence.
As we begin a new year, this reflection seems especially appropriate. Everyone alive today will turn one year older sometime this year. This unavoidable passage of time acts as a universal indicator of change, reminding us that we are not static beings. The self that begins this year will be different from the person that ends it. Our lives, like our bodies, are constantly renewing themselves, formed by the events and decisions we make in the next months.
Me at 18.
In my private moments, I reflect on who I was at eighteen. That younger version of myself was confident in ambitions, goals, and a belief in the clarity of purpose. Back then, there was a sense of simplicity—a conviction that we could neatly categorize the world into right and wrong, good and bad. I recall the intensity of those years, when everything seemed important and full of opportunities. However, those memories now feel like faded images, distant and softened by time. What about my character? That, too, has changed in several ways over the years.
Memory is the path that connects us to our past selves. It's the link between who we were and who we're becoming. Without memory, there would be no sense of self, simply fragmented pieces of a life. Nonetheless, memory is a fragile thing that is susceptible to distortion and degradation. Neuroscience teaches us that memory is not a flawless record. It is changeable and frequently remade according to how we feel in the moment. What we recollect reveals as much about our current selves as it does about our past. Reflecting on the decisions I've made, the people I've loved, and the paths I've traveled, I find that my memories are remarkably malleable. My memories are dynamic, evolving with me and gaining deeper meaning with every year that passes.
But what about this renewal? This sloughing off of past selves? To others, it may appear to be a loss or an abandonment of identity. I see this as an opportunity. Change signifies life, and life signifies transformation. Each decade, season, and moment of our life provides us with the opportunity to mature, discard what no longer serves us, and embrace what is ahead. Leaving the familiar and entering the unfamiliar can be a tough experience at times. It's also freeing. We are not chained to our former selves. We are permitted to change, contradict ourselves, and ultimately become someone new.
I recall the relationships that shaped me: friendships, loves, and fleeting connections that left their imprints and memories. Each has helped shape who I am; nevertheless, none of them really define me. Some connections have faded with time, like old leaves falling to the ground. Others have endured, like the small stones we select and polish year after year. However, even those that remain are not static. They evolve together with us, often impacted by the changes we go through. People who knew me at eighteen may not recognize me now, and I may not really understand them. And that's fine. Change does not reduce connection; rather, it strengthens it and reveals new facets and layers.
Desperation accompanies this realization. To accept change is to acknowledge the passage of time and the inevitable loss. The people we care about the most can drift away, and those places we once called home may no longer fit who we are. But there is beauty in the sadness. Knowing that life changes and we are not stuck in one version of ourselves is beautiful. We have the freedom to grow, heal, and transform.
Maybe this is why memory is so important. It is not a perfect record, and neither should it be. Instead, it is a self-created narrative that helps us understand who we were and who we are. Memory allows us to honor our old selves while making room for the ones we are still evolving. We can look back with gratitude and forward with hope, knowing that every transition presents an opportunity for growth.
Me at 47.
As I sit here, reflecting on who I was and who I am today, I am glad for the journey. The coherence of personality may be an illusion, but it is an illusion with meaning. It reminds us that life is a journey, not a destination, and that our identities are flexible, changed by time and experience.
To be human means to change, to grow, to let go, and to start again. It is to preserve the memory of who we were while welcoming the possibility of who we will become. And in that possibility, life continues to grow and thrive.
Note: I got the inspiration to create this post after recommending a World War II related novel to 
That's it for now. If you read this far, thank you. I appreciate it so much! Kindly give me a follow if you like my content. I mostly write about making art, writing, life musings, and our mundane yet charming family life here in Klang Valley, Malaysia.
Note: All images used belong to me unless stated otherwise.
