Tell Me About Yourself

"My brain mutinied"

"Tell me about yourself” says Examiner One — the man with the black vest, tapping his pen like a metronome.

My lips part. My throat’s dry.
One palm is clammy against the chair.
Nothing comes. My mind just—blanks.

Oh no.
Now is not the time for this, Brain. Pull it together.

We’ve nailed this oral exam so far.
Consciousness, identity, machines, the whole existential buffet.
I even dropped Merleau-Ponty to impress Examiner Two.
This is the finish line — we can’t fail now.
This isn’t some random school — it’s ENS.
Elite. Selective. Soul-crushing competition.
Our name is practically there. We’re about to become someone.

"That's… important."
Oh come on. Seriously? That’s what I’ve got?

We know the drill.
They’re not asking who I am. They’re asking for the performance.
We’ve done this before. Build the story. Find the hook. Anchor it in something — a moment, a detail, anything .
I scan the room for a name, a memory, a trigger. But it's like grasping at water.

“I… Well. I… I am—”
Jesus Christ. I am what?

The room is uncomfortably calm. The three examiners are sitting across from me, waiting.
I can hear Examiner One's watch ticking.
Examiner Three’s smiling — that expectant kind that says 'Take your time, we’re sure it’ll be brilliant.'
I smile back as if I knew what I was doing.
I'm about to disappoint her so hard.
Nothing comes to mind. Just my heartbeat, getting louder.
A flicker in Examiner Two's eyes. Confusion? Pity?
I’m tanking.

God, someone knock me out.
I’d rather black out than sit through this.

Quote someone! Anyone.
Hell, I’ll take "To be or not to be" at this point.

Twenty-five years. One last question.
Come on, Brain. One last trick. One last sacrifice. Say what they want. Just get us through the door.

"William Wordsworth said..."
My mouth moves before I understand what’s happening.
The examiners straighten, subtly.

"The Child is the father of the Man..."
Relief floods in so fast it makes me dizzy.

"Telling you who I am is telling you about the child I was..."
But the dizziness doesn't fade. It thickens.
My heart pounds in my ears. My eyes sting.
My voice won’t hold steady.
Not sadness. Something’s coming loose.

“Who we are begins long before we’re capable of choosing anything...”
Still, my brain keeps going. Obedient. Fluent.
Telling the story I demanded from it.
My mouth keeps talking, but the words feel like someone else’s
I’m here, but not in it.
I'm watching this unfold from a few inches outside myself.

"So when you ask me who I am — you’re not really asking about me..."
My brain mutinied.
The room turns artificial, too bright.
The examiners are intrigued.

"You’re asking for the biography of my influences."
Don’t play Meursault now — you’ll die a fool.
Was I already a fool at heart?
Oh, I think I’m gonna be sick. The nausea hits sharp, too sharp for all this.

"But what if I’ve never really made a choice?"
I grasped at the symbols of Prestige and Excellence, hoping they'd jolt me back into reason.
Institutional lighting. Banners bearing the school’s name. Century-old gold threading. Names etched in marble — reminders of the minds who came before. People cross continents for this. Knowledge matters. Merit is real. The world runs on order and Reason. A temple of brilliance. A cathedral for the mind.
But none of it holds.
The banners look tired. The marble, smudged. The aura of institutional meaning collapses. Suddenly, it’s all meaningless. I don’t care about earning anything. I don’t care whether I’m inside or out. And that’s why I want out.

"I became what got rewarded. Streamlined for praise. For admiration..."
I look at their confused expressions.

“I’ve performed. Always performed. Perfectly. But it’s never the last sacrifice, is it? It’s never enough. You want proof I belong. That I earned it. And it never ends. That’s all I’ve ever known — earning. Smiling. Fixing. Giving more. That’s who I am."
The words stop.
There’s silence.

"That’s the end of the script.”
I look at them.
They’re still waiting for something.
But there’s nothing left I want to give.

“Thank you for your time.”
Brain smiles. I just watch. It knows the way out. I follow.