Kamala's eyes light up with sympathy for him. She can't imagine not knowing who you are while someone else apparently has an opinion on it. She can't let that be how it is. "Then don't let me tell you who I think you are." Kamala is soft, but firm on that point. Now to make it a reality. "How about this? You can be Brooklyn and when your brain gets better, you can tell me if you feel like you're Bucky or someone else. Okay?" It's fair. He will get better. He has fancy supersoldier serum or something, doesn't he?