One is encouraged to collect second hand opinions, preferences for one luxury product over another, territorial loyalties of place or race or gang, memories of briefly-visited locations abroad, stockpiled media products and the like, and collage them together into a persona and say, “this is what I am. This is me and not you.”
So, one might ask, what are we really? We are an arbitrary awareness of the present carried through time, running on a substrate of organic bricolage rising from base matter into a pyramid of increasingly complex structures which feels itself to be a unified body distinct but utterly dependent upon a temporary support environment that hurtles from one near collision to another.
The self is a tap dancer on the night bus.