I fingered through the pages of the magazine with a heavy touch, searching desperately for the answer to a life long question. I fumbled through the thin words and grazed over the bright, big pictures of women with obvious breast enhancements and men with glaring egos. Who am I? I asked this with the flip of each page, the sight of each overpaid individual my eyes were graced with the presence of. The answer wouldn't come to me easily, I knew this, it probably wouldn't even come to me in this particular magazine (the 23rd of the day); but I had to keep looking. My eyes would not allow me to wander from the pages. It wasn't until page 104 that I found my answer. The blank page stared back at me like a mirror.