Who we are

I wonder what everyone is really like. I don't know if everyone is who they say they are, or who they think they are, or even, if they are who they are. I mean if ice is really just water at a cold temperature, what is ice? Certain circumstances, I think, bring about true nature in someone. What is courage or sacrifice, or love or fear? I was afraid of my chemistry teacher at the time, but was it really fear? It was to me at the time, but yet I am not afraid of it today thinking about it. Maybe that is why it can't be classified as fear, it did not stand the test of time.
I wonder if in different times, we would love who we hate, and hate who we love, if courage would turn into passive acceptance and if the meek would call to revolution. In the colors of history, our lives seem pale, and all emotions jaded.

Our understandings still seem primitive - our thoughts bound by our language. Phrases of physical, inanimate world, imposing its limitations on everything that is life. That car is red. And that boy is afraid. Either we or our language seem to underestimate complexity of our nature. It is as if our minds, only capable of comparing physical attributes, is waiting to find the greatest monument, greater than ever imagined, greater than the cathedrals, and the skyscrapers and the pyramids, and the mountains and oceans - all put together, is waiting to find that greatest monument round the corner - and then, conclude the endless vastness of our own nature by comparison.