Interpretation

While I was working on my second assignment—researching Facebook’s Terms of Service—I began thinking about interpretation. Especially in relation to myself.

How can I say that I am here? Of course, I’m doing things—I produce by-products: carbon dioxide, dead skin cells, and even this writing. But if no one witnesses these traces, can I still claim that I was here? That I will be somewhere? This is where my thoughts on existence began.

The person called “Moon” exists as “Moon”—but that is not I. “Moon” is someone perceived or confirmed by someone else. It’s always possible for “Moon” to replace “I,” but even then, it will never truly be I. The “I” is something no one can see. On the other hand, “Moon” can only subsist when someone confirms that “Moon” exists.

“Moon” is constructed through images—social, linguistic, and perceptual. That means “Moon” doesn’t exist as an object, but rather as a subject in the eyes of others. Meanwhile, I exist as an object—material, internal, unseen. “Moon” and “I” can never fully coexist. They are separated. The object cannot become the subject, and once one replaces the other, both vanish. But then—what is this I that is thinking now? Who is trying to understand and prove its own existence? What if I were to call myself by another name? Then, a new subject would emerge, and still, it wouldn’t be I.

What makes “Moon” real? I’ve always thought it begins with naming. People start naming babies even before they are born. Until then, even though the baby is physically there, its existence is not yet defined. The unsettling part is this: the moment the baby receives a name, the real baby disappears, replaced by an image. People look at the baby’s body, but speak to the name.

The only one who can say “I am here” is I. Yet, because that claim must be acknowledged by others to be verified, it can also be said that there is no one—at least not in the way I understand myself.

To produce something—anything—is the only way to show others that someone was here. It’s partial and fragmentary, but still the clearest way to shout: someone wanted to exist. Every moment, a new version of myself is accidentally born through traces and memories. I can’t control how “Moon” is interpreted, because “Moon” is not I. Even art or writing is transformed into other images and meanings the moment it separates from the hand of I. The interpreted “Moon” replaces I.

I don’t reject interpretation. But I still feel powerless in the face of it. The only thing I can control is thinking. That is the only space where no one can interfere—no interpretations, no disruptions.

I am thinking today.
And I will be thinking tomorrow.