Spoiler warning. This article discusses major plot points and reveals the ending of Balan – The Boy. If you haven't watched the film yet, I'd encourage you to do that first and come back afterwards.

I watched Balan – The Boy today.

I walked into the theatre expecting a story about a boy searching for his mother.

I walked out thinking about identity.

One of the earliest scenes that stayed with me was when Abbas asked Balan a simple question.

What is your name?

Balan couldn't answer.

Not because he had forgotten it.

Because he had too many.

Every time his mother changed places...

Every time they took up another job...

Every time they needed another identity...

Balan inherited another name.

Another story.

Another version of himself.

He never had the chance to grow into one identity.

His identity was constantly rewritten for him.

Throughout the film, Balan keeps adapting.

He learns theft.

He works in a fish market.

He learns another language.

He becomes part of a world that wasn't his.

Children have an incredible ability to adapt.

Mostly because they have no other choice.

Watching him move through these different worlds, I realised how easy it is to mistake adaptation for identity.

After the film, I watched a few interviews and read discussions online.

I began looking at Balan's mother differently.

At first, she feels like a mother doing everything she can to protect her child.

But the more I thought about it, the more complicated she became.

Every new town came with another story.

Another lie.

Another identity.

Balan wasn't just running from the past.

He was growing up inside realities that kept changing.

Whether his mother was protecting him or manipulating him almost becomes secondary.

The result was the same.

Balan never got the chance to ask the most important question.

Who am I beneath all these stories?

Somewhere in the middle of the film, I stopped thinking about Balan.

I started thinking about myself.

I've spent years asking a similar question.

Not through names.

Through careers.

Industrial designer.

Design technologist.

Founder.

Entrepreneur.

Writer.

Maker.

Every interview felt like it might finally answer the question I'd been carrying for years.

Who am I?

Every rejection convinced me I needed another skill.

Another portfolio.

Another title.

Another version of myself.

I kept asking myself...

What is my next name?

Looking back, my life seems scattered.

I studied industrial design.

Then electronics.

Programming.

3D printing.

Woodworking.

Writing.

For years, I saw these as different identities.

Today, I'm beginning to wonder if they were all expressions of the same curiosity.

Maybe I wasn't changing identities.

Maybe I was simply collecting skills.

The ending of the film broke something open in me.

After everything Balan goes through...

After all the places he travels...

After all the stories...

He discovers that his mother had been waiting where she had asked him to wait all along.

He just had to go back.

That ending stayed with me long after the credits rolled.

Because I realised I've been doing exactly the same thing.

Always looking ahead.

The next company.

The next interview.

The next opportunity.

The next identity.

Believing that somewhere ahead, someone would finally tell me who I was.

But nobody else can answer that question.

Not a recruiter.

Not a company.

Not a job title.

When I stop thinking about outcomes and ask myself what I naturally return to, the answer has never changed.

I love making things.

I love understanding how things work.

I love learning new skills.

I love building prototypes.

I love writing because it helps me think.

Those things existed before my first job.

They existed during my career.

They exist today.

Maybe that has always been my identity.

Not industrial designer.

Not founder.

Not entrepreneur.

Simply someone who cannot stop making.

I still don't know what comes next.

There will probably be more interviews.

More rejection.

More uncertainty.

But for the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I need another identity.

I don't need another name.

I don't need another story.

I just need to return to the work that has always made me feel most like myself.

Maybe we spend our whole lives asking,

"What is my next name? What is our next story?"

when the answer has been quietly waiting for us all along.