At the climax of the film Cloud Atlas, a woman stands in front of a camera and says six words. Her name is Sonmi~451, and she is a clone. As she speaks she watches her friends, and her lover, be killed by an unnamed security force. She too is captured and killed — but not before her words ring out through spacetime. The sentence she gave her life to share?

“Our lives are not our own.”

This is not a movie review. I have no great insights on the cinematography, nor do I know the biography of the directors. I haven’t even read the original novel. Rather, this is a meditation. A meditation on why, a year after watching this movie, I still think about Sonmi~451’s final broadcast.

Like most art, Cloud Atlas speaks to something deep and unwavering about our world. After all, it is only in a world obsessed with individuality that these six words could stand as revolutionary. And though Sonmi’s world is not our own, it is a kind of funhouse mirror; in its warped sheen, we see a reflection of ourselves.

In high school, I remember hearing sermons of individuality in terms of my assignments. “How would you feel if I took the class average and gave everyone that grade?” they would ask. Individuality was presented as a kind of shield from the failings and incompetence of others. Even now, I catch myself speaking of classmates and coworkers as if they are obstacles — even when I know nothing of their challenges, nor the kind of work they do.

This is only magnified in college, when grading is almost always done on a curve. They say this allows some students to excel. All it really does is sort the best from the rest. What is lauded as a path to success becomes a class barrier. Education becomes a zero sum game; in order for you to win, others have to lose.

And then there’s the “real” world. Everything from job applications, to promotions, to your children’s education becomes part of this hellscape of competing individualities. We are meant to be islands — cut off from each other, and absolutely confident in our own superiority. We are responsible for our fates; there is no room for systemic answers, no room for rigged games, and no room for compassion. When we win, we deserved it. When we lose, it’s just bad luck.

Though some escape this rat race, most of us spend our lives desperately chasing relief that never comes. We spend our lives believing that we can simply choose to work harder and reach further. That somehow, in spite of everything, we can will ourselves to success.

None of that is true. We are not free from life’s roulette. The zipcode we were born in determines our success. The bacteria in our stomachs changes how we feel and act. We have no control over our genetics. We don’t choose our parents. We can’t pick where we’re born. We can’t choose our passions. We are sojourners in a world of few choices — and yet, we see ourselves as the sculptors of destiny.

Individualism is not a reality; it is an ideology. We believe we are independent and free because it is convenient for those who sort us, starve us, stifle us, and steal from us. This is why the words of Sonmi~451 still ring in my head today. She does not speak to what should, or could, or might one day be. She speaks only to what is. And in the words of Rosa Luxemborg: “The most revolutionary thing one can do is always to proclaim loudly what is happening.”

No man is an island. Life is not a zero sum game. I am not a product of my own will, nor am I free from those around me. No.

Our lives are not our own.