The Weight of All Things

Everyday is a new day, a new day to wake up, get dressed, and carry the weight of all things. Not just physical weight, no. Life would be so much simpler otherwise. No, one must carry the burdens, the dreams, the memories. The people. A million things, weighted upon the shoulders, the brain, and the heart.

Of course, there is the tangible objects that define me: my watch. It keeps me organized, lets me know what the date is, and when I can dutifully escape the confines of some of my... less interesting classes. I am helpless without it. I constantly find myself looking down at my arm even on the days I forget to wear it. On those days, my wrist feels unbearably empty.

And then there are my dreams. Throughout my entire life, I have been driven by the desire to be amazing at something. Not just average. Not just good. Amazing. I have wanted to stand out, I have wished to do what few people could achieve. As a child, I tinkered with the piano. I joined the swim team, and then band. By sophomore year, I had stuck with only the latter because by then, I realized that amazing didn't come easily. My ultimate goal is to find myself in the All-State band, and that dream, more than any other drives me the most. Because I have lived such a privileged life, everything I have ever desired has always managed to fall into my hands. Yet, this dream, like no other, has posed me with an impossible challenge. Regardless of where I end up placing next year, I will always be grateful for that dream because it opened my eyes to many things I took for granted. 

I also carry the inspiration of my sister. Not only do I admire her for her brilliance and her work ethic, but she is always there to cheer me on, no matter how frustrated I am. She understands me without me even having to open my mouth. She cries with me when I am down, and she laughs with me when I am giddy. She is the wiser one and always offers me advice whether or not I am willing to take it.

Then there is me, my actions and my words that define me. I carry my father's hardworking personality. I never allow myself to settle for less because there is no point of wasting my time with only a meager effort. I dedicate myself to doing what I do, not because I have to, but because I love to. I am ambitious. Sometimes, I find myself to be overly so, reaching for goals that are nearly unattainable. Yet, it drives me to work harder and longer for my dreams. I am also organized; I must confess I carry a color-coded agenda and organize my books by genre and book jacket color. My room is almost always tidy. If not, it's best to stay away because something is wrong.

I am also defined both by a memory of success and failure. I remember looking at the results of Region band my eighth grade year, feeling the overwhelming satisfaction flood me, knowing that I gave it all. I had everything to prove that I deserved my first chair. Yet, I am plagued by my losses: for the past two years, I have found myself looking at the same, disappointing results-- being so close to achieving my goal, yet not quite there. It reminds me that sometimes, life doesn't always go as planned and that no matter how much effort I give, there will always be someone better than me. It reminds me that there is someone who exists who has the same aspirations as me, and will work just as hard as me, if not harder, for that same goal. Both these memories motivate me to practice more because I wish to experience that gratifying happiness once again, instead of the tears of regret. They shape my motivation and sculpt my dreams.

I carry both these visible invisible things everywhere, and more. They form my words and my actions, and they help to define my desires and my will. I am who I am because of these things. Without the million different things I carry, I would be a completely different person. The weight of all these things may be heavy, and tough. But it is me.