Fragmentation of the self

I see no clear distinction between me and the other.

Where do you draw the line?

Is it the skin? Is the heat on the surface of my skin still me?

In a world, as connected as ours, are our thoughts truly ours? Or are they the product of a thousand personalities and teachings, echoed through history, stitched together into a beautiful harmony we call self?

Our existence is but a mere drop in an ocean of billions of human lives, at the frontier of millions of years of evolution.

Why then do we hate each other? Why do we need to categorize ourselves into minorities like items in a grocery store?

I feel that I belong to the most irreducible minority: myself, yet composed by parts of all of you.

The time has come to respect the other no matter the difference.

There is no normal, there is just we, and we are one.