In a cemetery in Vienna, on the tombstone of Ludwig Boltzmann, an equation is engraved:
\begin{equation} S = k_{\mathrm{B}} ,, \ln ,, \Omega \end{equation}
This equation connects entropy ($S$) with $\Omega$, the number of possible states a system can occupy, with $k_{\mathrm{B}}$ as the Boltzmann constant. The more possibilities available, the higher the entropy.
In the realm of physics, entropy isn’t a moral judgment about “messiness” as it’s often narrated; it is a measure of how many configurations are possible.
If we view our identity as a system, then $\Omega$ can be imagined as the versions of ourselves that haven’t happened yet. Labels work by shrinking $\Omega$, reducing a vast sea of possibilities into a form that’s comfortable for our primate brains.
When we reject a label, we are actually reopening that space of possibility. Identity moves toward higher entropy, giving ourselves the chance to explore various configurations.
Like systems in nature, identity doesn’t always find its shape in a single, fixed state. It expands into various possibilities first, before slowly gravitating toward a specific structure.
Imagine someone who, for years, was pinned with the label of an “Islamic boarding school kid” (anak pesantren), with a daily life revolving around Arabic Islamic literature and holy verses. Within that framework, their identity seemed to exist in a narrow $\Omega$, locked into a single configuration. At least, that’s how it looked from the outside.
But that person was a rebel. He rejected the label, and his possibilities began to expand. He started reading broader literature, weaving philosophical interpretations from poems and novels, and discovered a passion for music. He taught himself an instrument, connected biological facts with concepts in other sciences, and eventually drowned himself in lines of programming code. One by one, new possibilities were added, expanding the configurations his identity could occupy.
From the perspective of an outsider who often reduces identity to a simple label, this change might look “unfocused” or even like they’ve lost their way. But that person isn’t destroying his identity. He is simply enlarging $\Omega$, allowing himself to explore more possibilities before settling on a specific form. Perhaps that initial identity never truly existed; the “boarding school kid” was just a label that appeared stable only because the space of possibility hadn’t been opened yet.
For our primate brains, vast possibilities aren’t always comfortable. In the midst of so many potential versions of ourselves, we feel an urge to simplify. Labels become a sort of resting point—something to hold onto when complexity starts to feel exhausting. It works like the noise that blurs the diversity of possibilities into a single, easily recognizable pattern. The social world works much the same way: it prefers to understand things that are fixed, consistent, and predictable.
Oh, and if you’re wondering who the person in this example is? I’ll tell you: it’s the one typing this article on a 15-inch laptop.
I once stated that the brain and the world are mutually implicated. The way we view ourselves is never entirely born from within. That perspective is formed by the wealth of information we receive from our environment. If the world around us has a high $\Omega$, with possibilities constantly shifting, what happens when our view of ourselves is frozen into a narrow possibility?
This desynchronization is what slowly triggers a crisis. Labels feel comfortable because they reduce possibility and create local order. But at the same time, they make an identity rigid in the face of a constantly changing environment. The world moves with high entropy, while we try to survive in a fixed configuration.
In such conditions, pressure becomes inevitable. Like an organism that must constantly adapt to its ecological environment, identity is also demanded to adapt. But adaptation is never fast or simple. It requires an unstable phase, where old forms begin to loosen before a new configuration truly takes shape.
Because of that, it’s only natural that in the process of expanding these possibilities, we occasionally feel like a polar bear forced to adapt in the middle of a rainforest. The environment feels alien, the rhythm no longer fits, and every step is filled with uncertainty. It takes a long time for an organism in such extreme conditions to find a new way of living.
The same goes for identity. It needs time to process, allowing itself to be unstable, before finally finding a rhythm that is more in tune with a world that never stops changing.