The real you

BB is jumping around on the furniture. I say, "stop." "Don't stand on the table." He says, "But I'm Pi Ka" (a Pokemon creature), "squeak, squeak." "Stop!" I say. "But I'm Pi Ka," he responds. My blood is rising, and I struggle for words. "I'm talking to the one in your body," I say, thinking at the same time how weird this sounds, "the real you. BB. I want BB to stop regardless of who you're pretending to be."

There, I think I made myself clear. But there is a moment of cognitive dissonance. And oddly, I end up speaking to him in the third person. I suppose he will learn to pity his poor, fractured identities as I now pity my own.

Then again: It reminds me of Rei Terada's suggestion that we would not have emotion if we had stable subjectivities. I have pity because my identity is fractured. Hooray for my inner Pi Ka!