I feel like I have no real identity.
I wasn’t raised with religion, but I also wasn’t raised to reject it. I sit somewhere undefined, and that kind of sums everything else up too.
My family background is mixed, but I’ve never felt deeply connected to any part of it. On my dad’s side, there’s Turkish heritage, but I barely know that side of the family. My grandparents passed away young, and my dad grew up more like a typical working-class London lad—an Essex ice cream man—than someone rooted in a strong cultural tradition.
On my mum’s side, it’s Irish and Sri Lankan, but again, I’ve never really felt immersed in that identity either. My grandad died when I was young, and my nan is very proud, but more in a self-made way than someone who reflects on where she comes from. My mum comes from a working-class background too, but carries herself in a more polished, “posh” way.
So I was raised by two very different people with intense life experiences—but what they gave me was simple: be good, be loving. And I am that. But it also feels like that’s all I am.
I don’t feel strongly enough in any one direction to define myself against anything else. Because of that, my worldview is quite open, idealistic—but also a bit empty. Like I accept everything, but don’t fully stand in anything.
That carries into everything, even relationships. I like to think I’m a catch—I’m funny, I’m not unattractive, I make decent money, and I take pride in what I do. I have interests that feel unique compared to people around me. But most of my friends are at uni now, and for most of the year I’m alone apart from family. When they come back, I enjoy the time, but we’re living different lives. It’s hard to have fulfilling conversations or build ideas together when their focus is elsewhere.
I also feel tied to my family’s ice cream business. It’s something I genuinely love, and I want to honour the generations of work behind it. But at the same time, I have this project—this idea—that I feel I have to pursue. If I don’t, I think I’ll always feel incomplete.
The problem is, I struggle to actually move forward with it. Partly because I don’t have help. Partly because I don’t have like-minded people around me. And partly because my life is very survival-focused. I work to afford living in London. I don’t spend on wants, only needs. My clothes are basic, my room is plain—because I’ve known what it’s like to struggle financially, and saving feels more important than self-expression.
But at the same time, that same reality is exactly why I feel this project matters. It’s about something real—something tied to inequality, to how people live. Yet that same struggle makes it harder to create anything. When people are just trying to get by, art naturally comes second.
Even socially, I feel out of place. I don’t really know my style yet—I mostly wear what my family buys me. Music is one of the few areas where I feel like I do have a sense of identity. But outside of that, I tend to lean toward understanding others rather than defining myself. I don’t really have strict standards—I just see people for who they are.
When it comes to relationships, I actually think most women I meet are incredible. I could imagine being with many of them. But I also feel like the path I’m on makes me hard to understand. My ambition is very niche, very uncertain. The best-case scenario is something unique and meaningful—but right now, it’s just an unproven idea that takes up my whole life. And I don’t think that’s attractive. So I don’t pursue anything seriously, because I feel like people deserve a version of me that’s already become something—not just someone who thinks a lot about what they could be.
Still, I know I have to try. I’ve already invested so much time and thought into this idea that not pursuing it would feel like a waste. Whether it’s great or ridiculous, I need to see it through.
And then there are moments—like now, sitting in Greggs, just watching the world. Seeing how people carry themselves, especially women—the confidence, the expression, the way they support each other. It makes me realise how much identity can come from shared experiences, from trying things, from being around others who bring that side out of you.
I’ve never really had that. So a lot of this feels like I’m figuring it out alone, in real time.
