I often think of us, you and me, in terms of who we are. I have never come up with an answer to suit me.
What are we? Again, the same problem. Oh, I suppose we can talk about material items, flesh, blood, molecules, that sort of things but does it define us? I think not.
So I have decided that what we are is a collection of memories. We are thoughts. We are not future as the future doesn’t exist. We are not present (even though we think we are) because present is both past and future and future doesn’t exist so you cannot have present. Therefore we are past, and past is memory pushing against the present and the future which are both indistinct and perpetually indistinguishable. In writing I am dealing with thought about the future but the future doesn’t come into being until the present when I type or think out a thought that then becomes past as in memory. Even typing the word out. It doesn’t become until AFTER I hit the key and then the letters fall on the page but this is after and not before. Before is thought but doesn’t exit in the here and now until I help it materialize. The future is undefinable. It exists only because we think it does and yet if you die right now that future you thought about is not here.
And yet, time is accessible past and future to an extent with present being the focus. In essence we are time travelers without the awareness that we are.