"How much can we really explain about ourselves?"
Haru was struggling with a self-introduction.
Simon peered over. "Difficult."
"Whatever I write, it doesn't feel like the real me."
Mio said quietly. "What is the real you?"
Haru was at a loss for words. "That's what I don't know."
Simon pondered. "What is the self? A fundamental philosophical question."
"How does philosophy answer?"
"Various answers. But common is that the self isn't fixed."
Haru wrote in her notebook. "Self = fluid?"
"Yes. Constantly changing," Mio supplemented. "So even if you describe yourself now, tomorrow might be different."
"Then is self-introduction a lie?"
Simon laughed. "Not a lie, but a snapshot. The self at one moment."
Haru thought. "But the moment I put it into words, something feels lost."
"Sharp observation," Simon acknowledged. "Language converts experience into concepts. In that process, something is shaved off."
Mio spoke quietly. "Words are for sharing. But completely private experiences can't be shared."
"Private experiences?"
"Called qualia. The sensation of seeing red, the quality of pain. Words can't fully convey them."
Haru nodded deeply. "So no matter how much I explain, there are parts that can't be understood."
Simon continued. "But that's not something to be pessimistic about. What can't be verbalized also has meaning."
"Meaning?"
"What can't be put into words forms the depths of the self."
Mio added. "In silence and between words, the self also dwells."
Haru asked. "Then what does speaking of the self mean?"
Simon organized. "Superficially, actions, preferences, experiences. Deeply, values, emotions, conflicts."
"But the deep parts are hard to speak of."
"Yes. Because you don't understand them yourself," Mio said.
Haru was surprised. "Even though it's about myself?"
"There's the unconscious. Parts you're not aware of."
Simon supplemented. "As Freud and Jung showed, most of the self is below consciousness."
"So speaking of the self is discovering the self?"
"Perhaps," Mio smiled. "While speaking, you understand yourself."
Simon continued. "By speaking, vague emotions and thoughts take form."
Haru agreed. "That's why we write diaries or talk to someone."
"Yes. Verbalization is a tool for self-understanding."
Mio said from another angle. "But there's also danger."
"Danger?"
"Thinking the verbalized self is the true self."
Simon explained. "By labeling, you fix the self. 'I am this kind of person.'"
Haru understood. "And become bound by that label."
"Yes. Though the self is fluid, words fix it."
Mio said quietly. "So both speaking and not speaking are important."
Haru pondered. "Not how far we can speak, but how we speak?"
Simon nodded. "And what we don't speak."
"Not speaking also has meaning."
Mio said finally. "We can't speak of the self completely. But truth dwells in incomplete speaking."
Haru looked at her self-introduction again. "It doesn't have to be perfect."
"Rather, it shouldn't be perfect," Simon said. "Margins leave room for growth."
Mio smiled gently. "The self is both what is spoken and what is not spoken."
The three nodded quietly. We can't speak of ourselves completely. But in the attempt to speak, the self appears. Accepting that contradiction, they understood, is honesty.