The question of our own identity has vexed philosophers for millennia. Is it the unchanging DNA etched in our genes, or the ever-changing river of experience that makes us anew with each passing day? Perhaps, like the mysterious Ship of Theseus, as with every plank replaced, who are we to say whether it remains the same vessel? It is a thought experiment in philosophy that uses the analogy of a ship to explain change. It goes to an extent that no element of a ship remains the same. Does the ship still retain its identity if we replace every component? This is the question posited by the analogy.

One side leans itself into the physical reality of material identity. They believe that the ship (and, consequently, we) undergoes a change when all the original components are replaced. Every replaced plank represents a lost part of the original identity, making something completely different and new as a whole.

Others support the functional identity. To them, the purpose and role of the ship stays the same in its material composition. As long as it sails on the same seas, fulfilling what it is supposed to do, its intended function, the new ship, despite its altered form, retains its essence. Similarly, they argue, while our bodies undergo constant cellular turnover, the continuity of our thoughts, feelings, and actions defines the enduring thread of who we are.

But what if the question itself is incomplete? Perhaps its persistence in time aids the concept of the sense of self to stretch across the timeline. Memories, however erratic, show our own story. Thus, evolution is an ongoing process. If a human were to evolve into something more, would it not be considered as something new? Let us consider the theory of evolution where apes and humans share a common ancestor. We are similar in some sense, but divided by our genetic composition. We are genetically different from each other since they have an extra pair of chromosomes as compared to humans. Perhaps changing our cognitions (mental processes) and physical appearances does not actually change us. Let us consider someone who has experienced a certain kind of trauma. Now, whether that is caused by the death of a loved one, torture or self-harm, does it really change the essence of the person is within themselves? As children develop into young adults, they learn skills; they gain body mass, build up their levels of intelligence quotient and change significantly in their appearances. Yet, they are the same person, right?

Social constructs add another layer to the puzzle. Names, titles, and roles act as anchors. They tell us who we are, and how no one can really predict who we are going to be before our birth. While our inner thoughts may undergo sudden shifts, these external cues offer a semblance of stability, a shared understanding of who we are in the eyes of the world—a common identity.

Yet, philosophical and existential perspectives remind us that discovering who we are is a complex task. Identity, they argue, is a subjective tapestry made up of experiences, interpretations, and choices. Each encounter, each emotion, each decision adds a unique thread to the intricate design of who we are.

There is no one definitive answer or a singular option that is the right one. The strength of science lies in its tangible or empirical evidence. Thus, it overlooks the differences of perception and lived experiences. Conversely, when subjective perspectives acknowledge the fluidity of self, they are at the risk of dissolving into uncertainty.

Perhaps the question is not whether we are the same ship after ten years, but whether it matters. The essence of being human lies not in finding a one singular answer. But in the ongoing exploration, the continuous change in opinions is quite interesting.