The Things I Carry

I seem to carry the same things on me everyday. I carry the vital things I need to get me through daily life. I carry my cell phone, to keep me connected to the rest of the world, and I carry the keys to my car, to get me where I need to be going. I always carry my ID, in both a tangible and intangible sense. I carry both the good and bad memories from my past, and the consequences of my actions. I carry the blame from my dad for my parent’s divorce, and the guilt of not helping my sister choose the right path to go on. I carry the image of her face in my head, and the obnoxious shreak of her voice that I’ve grown to know and love. I carry hope that she’ll one day look up to me, so I can help guide her on a better path, and help her become a better person.

I always seem to have a book in my hands, but no real grasp on everyday life. I carry a sense of wonder and imagination, that hasn’t been altered since I was a child. I carry stories from books, my experiences, movies, and stories I’ve made up on my own. I seem to always have a crazy, made up scenario for the day that makes me seem exceptionally cool, or cleaver, or unique. I also carry much insecurity. I seem to worry too much that I’m not smart enough, or funny enough, or interesting enough. I carry a fear of failure, especially in a new setting, that makes me want to go home and hide in my room for the next twenty or thirty years. I carry curiosity for the things around me. I’m on a quest for knowledge, both inside and outside of school. I’m constantly observing, reading, and writing.

I carry the same mind set as my mom, along side an untouchable bond. She’s a beautiful, successful woman, that I only hope I can be one day. We carry many inside jokes such as our morning ‘Bagel Time’, and the love for the band, 30 Seconds to Mars. We also carry the same memories. We carry the memory of my dad, and the details of their divorce. We also carry the details of my sister’s ‘coping’ with my parents divorce, and her falling into the wrong crowd.