I bought bread the other day.

“Why exactly this one?” I asked myself preparing a sandwich at home.

Because it was cheaper? Healthier? More nutritious?

What was my choice based on? And was there a choice at all?

I even wondered—what is it that I call «choice»? Is it something real? Or is it just an idea that was planted into my infant mind and was growing there all along?

I asked myself following questions:

Did I choose a country to be born in?
Did I choose a century to be born in?
Did I choose my parents?
Did I choose my gender?
Did I choose my physical appearance?
Did I choose the language I spoke first?
Did I choose how to be brought up?
Did I choose what to be fed with whilst a baby?
Did I choose what people to be surrounded by?
Did I choose which traditions, superstitions, propaganda, ideas, or religion to be exposed to?
Did I choose to have a sister?
Did I choose to go to a kindergarden or school?
Did I choose which exact kindergarden or school to go to?
Did I choose my first friends?
Did I choose peers to be bullied by?
Did I choose who to have my first crush on?
Did I choose my teachers?
Did I choose what to be taught?

Just these alone made me realise that for a being who has a choice I managed very well to choose pretty much nothing. All this just happened to me and I had no control over it whatsoever. As if someone just threw me into this life—like a ball from the sky.

Does the ball really choose to be thrown? Or how to fall? Or how to hit the ground? Or how many times to bounce off the ground? Or how far to roll afterwards?

Probably not.

All this depends on the features of the ball—size, weight, materials. After all, a ping-pong ball is very different from a basketball ball.

So, everytime when it seems that I choose something—do I really choose it or my choice is just a natural way for whatever it is I am to express itself? For example, did I really choose to write these words? Or are they just a consequence of my body and mind being of particular kind? Or is it just another thing that occurred to me because it could have been otherwise?

I don’t know.

Meanwhile, life keeps happening to me. This will stop one day though.

But will it be my choice—to stop?