I carry the knowledge of who I use to be. Dry, cracked hands. Elaborate mental maps rife with red zones. A horrendous pair of chartreuse sweatpants. The conviction that I could not do math.
I carry an idea of who I am now. An insatiable curiosity and an intensely comparative nature. The sense that I will never quite measure up juxtaposed with the fear that I think too highly of myself. A hunger for certainty and clarity. The presence of everything but.
I carry hopes and desires for the person I will become. Fulfilment. Joy. A dependable high C and a controlled landing to a kick-ass double pirouette. An existence which benefits others, while allowing me to pursue my own selfish endeavors. A college degree and a fulfilling career. A passport covered in stamps.
I carry the understanding that the person I was, the person I am, and the person I hope to be are not isolated states of my existence, but rather parts of one dynamic and ever-evolving identity. An identity shaped by its surroundings, which it, in turn, helps to shape.
As a sister I carry the responsibility of being a role model, a sense of comradery, and a wealth of pride. Some rather absurd nicknames, uncontrollable laughter, and a surprisingly strong protective streak. A scrapbook and a note written on construction paper. A collection of inside jokes. A voice often confused for someone else’s, as hers is often confused for mine.
As a performer I carry the magic of a hushed auditorium. A need to sing as innate as the need to breathe. A few mediocre accents, three years of jazz training and a reasonably reliable soprano tucked away in my bag of tricks. An appreciation of technical precision and emotional interpretation. A sense of trepidation, countered by inspiration. The knowledge of realistic expectations and dreams that surpass them.
As an artist I carry imagination. A strong sense of aesthetic, an eye for detail, and a stubborn insistence on making all of my Christmas gifts by hand. The occasional stain of paint or dye under my nails and on my cuticles, or the hem of my sleeve. An immense amount of joy and satisfaction.
As a perfectionist I carry a ruler. A hatred of pen. A preference for writing on lined paper and graphing on quad ruled. The frustration of a miniscule mistake and the immense satisfaction of a job well done. The habit of strategically selecting the most compatible pair of mismatched socks when faced with a drawer of lone rangers.
As a student I carry a planner. Tasks and commitments organized into little boxes- the illusion of control. An apple, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and two tangerines. An answer here and there, a decent number of ideas, and an overabundance of questions. A favorite water fountain. The unrealistic dream that someday people will stop eating each other’s faces in the halls, and that the lack of HAZMAT signs outside school bathrooms will be justified.
As a thinker I carry a love of conversation and debate. A collection of words, in place of the usual pez dispensers. A passion for miscellaneous factoids. An acute awareness of minutia, and an occasionally problematic forgetfulness when it comes to necessary tedium. A mind always whirling, seeking connections and answers, forming questions and ideas.
As a human, I carry an awe in the nature of the universe- it’s ability to encompass ambiguity, wonder, despair, and hope. Its sheer complexity and magnitude. The conviction that I am an infinitesimally small, but nonetheless unquestionably valid, part of its infinity.