Who are we really? (Yesterday's Tomorrow's Accompanying blog!)

Name:
Sex:
Hair color:
Height:
Weight:
Eye color:
Distinguishing features:

Sure, this might be how we are described by the government (Who counts you just as a vote), but "Who are we really?"

We are people.
When you come down to it, we are all just people. We are all human. We are all part of this great race, for better or worse, in sick ness and in health... You get the idea. And I hope I didn't offend the talking dog. I may have a blog dedicated to you later on.

We are unique.
Sure, you hear it all the time, but we are unique. (Just like everyone else?) There are things that make you who you are. A certain "Je ne sais quoi." Such as me writing in French and incorporating clichés at random times. Uniqueness.

We have a soul/personality.
Our essence. We do things because of who we are. And who we are is called our personality. However, it is also called our soul, and many other things. We ask ourselves questions about who we are. Interpersonal reflection. We change who we are, and sometimes we are better for it, but other times we aren't. And does assigning character traits to a person make them act that way?

Are we just a list of facts?
Sure, we've all done things. We've all been places, seen sight, learnt, loved, lost, been hurt. But does that make up who we are? Can we be saving in a computer as a huge list of dates, places and events? In short, maybe. We change what we do based on past experiences. We adapt. We might just be a complex set of variables for wittiness, health, humour, happiness, anger, boredom, etc. which are just changed depending on what occurs.
So are we a list of facts? No. Could you make a person out of a list of facts? Yes, but it would not be a perfect copy.

How to sum up? Well, I think that Doctor Who has a good way.

Doctor: "Now. First things first. Be honest. How do I look?"
Rose: "Umm... different."
Doctor: "Good different or bad different?"
Rose: "Just, different."
Doctor: "Am I... ginger?"
Rose: "No, you're just sort of brown."
Doctor: "Ah! I wanted to be ginger! I've never been ginger! And you Rose Tyler! Fat lot of good you were! You gave up on me! Oh, that's rude. So that's what I am now? Am I rude? Rude and not ginger..."
Harriet: "I'm sorry, who is this?"
Doctor: "I'm the Doctor"
Rose: "He's the Doctor."
Harriet: "Well what happened to my Doctor? Or is it a title that is just passed on?"
Doctor: "I'm him. I'm literally him. Same man, new face. Well, new everything."
Harriet: "But you can't be!"
Doctor: "Harriet Jones. We were trapped in Downing Street, and the one thing that scared you wasn't the aliens; wasn't the war. It was the thought of your mother being on her own."
Harriet: "Oh my God."
Doctor: "Did you win the election?"
Harriet: "Landslide majority."
Sycorax: "If I might interrupt."
Doctor: "Yes. Sorry. Hello, big fella."
Sycorax: "Who exactly are you?"
Doctor: "Well, that's the question."
Sycorax: "I DEMAND TO KNOW WHO YOU ARE!"
Doctor: "I DON'T KNOW! See, that's the thing. I'm The Doctor, but beyond that, I, I just don't know. I literally do not know who I am. So I'm untested. Am I funny? Am I sarcastic? Sexy? Wild misery? Life and soul? Right handed, left handed? A gambler? A fighter? A coward? A traitor? A liar? A nervous wreck? I mean, judging by the evidence, I've certainly got a goal."

Sums up life pretty well.