RC_4777
Mockingjay
- Joined
- Feb 1, 2013
- Messages
- 10,404
- Reaction score
- 10,589
Here is a short essay that I wrote for school. I hope you enjoy it!
Each day at precisely 6:30 am, without fail, the blaring klaxon screams out as if the world itself were coming to an end. Each morning, without fail, it is hushed by the touch of my finger seconds after it begins. Its harsh sounds jolt me awake to prepare me for the long road of burdens ahead.
The first physical load is carried to the car 45 minutes after I wake up – my backpack. It carries books, lunch, school supplies, and a computer. Today it weighs exactly 20 pounds. Throughout the day, the weight varies; a few pounds are shed in the morning, some are added in the afternoon. The weight for the return trip homes is a rigged lottery drawn by my teachers. But the invisible burdens carried by the backpack are the ones that weigh the most. The unrelenting pressure of vital time fading into the past. The doubts contained within the books and binders about the assessments to come from them. The uncertainty of whether anything I’ve done with the physical contents is correct or meaningful at all. Heaviest of all are the expectations: those of society, my teachers, my peers, my family, and predominantly myself.
When the school day is over it is time for me to carry more weight. I don my football gear-about 15 pounds in all. Some days the weight of the gear is preceded by the weight in the gym - hundreds and hundreds of pounds carried. But these weights aren’t nearly as heavy as the weight of the backpack. These weights are not oppressive like that of the backpack. These weights are liberating. These weights distracts me from the other burdens I have to carry, at least for a brief time. The weight of football is one that I feel in control over, one that I can lessen directly. The burden is one that is not simply shared, but one that is carried together. The burdens of the backpack are shared, but each carries his own load with only little nudges here and there. The burden of football is one burden that all work together to carry.
Despite the freedom of picking up a lighter burden in the evening, the oppressing weight piles itself back on later in the night. The thoughts of donning it again slowly invade the mind and lessen the joy of freedom. How can I – how can anyone – continue through this cycle of loads? What guides me through is simply the promise of freedom again. I am propelled through each day by the promise of freedom in the night. I am propelled through each school week by the promise of the weekend and the long rest with it. I am propelled through the months by the promise of the next large break. I am propelled through the school year by the promise of summer. Each school year is slowly working towards the false freedom of being out of school, the “freedom” that is often only a heavier load. Even putting down the load of a job will eventually give rise to the burden of realizing just how little time there is left. Despite the burdens I know I will have to take up, I keep going. I keep going just for the sweet taste of liberation and the treasure memories of those moments. I keep going towards the promise of something more after death if I do things right. I keep going precisely because I know that these burdens will have to be carried, and I accept the challenge of carrying them. But even though I decide every day to carry the weight of these burdens, I figure that I might as well get some rest before I carry them.
What I Carry
Each day at precisely 6:30 am, without fail, the blaring klaxon screams out as if the world itself were coming to an end. Each morning, without fail, it is hushed by the touch of my finger seconds after it begins. Its harsh sounds jolt me awake to prepare me for the long road of burdens ahead.
The first physical load is carried to the car 45 minutes after I wake up – my backpack. It carries books, lunch, school supplies, and a computer. Today it weighs exactly 20 pounds. Throughout the day, the weight varies; a few pounds are shed in the morning, some are added in the afternoon. The weight for the return trip homes is a rigged lottery drawn by my teachers. But the invisible burdens carried by the backpack are the ones that weigh the most. The unrelenting pressure of vital time fading into the past. The doubts contained within the books and binders about the assessments to come from them. The uncertainty of whether anything I’ve done with the physical contents is correct or meaningful at all. Heaviest of all are the expectations: those of society, my teachers, my peers, my family, and predominantly myself.
When the school day is over it is time for me to carry more weight. I don my football gear-about 15 pounds in all. Some days the weight of the gear is preceded by the weight in the gym - hundreds and hundreds of pounds carried. But these weights aren’t nearly as heavy as the weight of the backpack. These weights are not oppressive like that of the backpack. These weights are liberating. These weights distracts me from the other burdens I have to carry, at least for a brief time. The weight of football is one that I feel in control over, one that I can lessen directly. The burden is one that is not simply shared, but one that is carried together. The burdens of the backpack are shared, but each carries his own load with only little nudges here and there. The burden of football is one burden that all work together to carry.
Despite the freedom of picking up a lighter burden in the evening, the oppressing weight piles itself back on later in the night. The thoughts of donning it again slowly invade the mind and lessen the joy of freedom. How can I – how can anyone – continue through this cycle of loads? What guides me through is simply the promise of freedom again. I am propelled through each day by the promise of freedom in the night. I am propelled through each school week by the promise of the weekend and the long rest with it. I am propelled through the months by the promise of the next large break. I am propelled through the school year by the promise of summer. Each school year is slowly working towards the false freedom of being out of school, the “freedom” that is often only a heavier load. Even putting down the load of a job will eventually give rise to the burden of realizing just how little time there is left. Despite the burdens I know I will have to take up, I keep going. I keep going just for the sweet taste of liberation and the treasure memories of those moments. I keep going towards the promise of something more after death if I do things right. I keep going precisely because I know that these burdens will have to be carried, and I accept the challenge of carrying them. But even though I decide every day to carry the weight of these burdens, I figure that I might as well get some rest before I carry them.
