Some people are like the octopus: changing with haste to match their surroundings, only to hide and rage into their naked quirks when they return home.
One cannot define the individual, where the inner current of uniqueness strikes the soul with the utmost transparency, no camouflage.
Hiding from one’s self is for the fakers. The same cowards that use filler words “like” and nod their heads passively in agreement are the ones that distrust their own voices. After all, our first opinion is likely someone else’s.
Slowly but surely, the independent taper away from being a variety of something else. They practice being themselves to deliberately blend out. What instead emerges is a stable voice they can call their own.