I’m afraid to take the
extra mile.
When I walk onto the playground, I still see the 4 year old
me hesitating to climb the half-moon climber as he’s too afraid to fall. When I
cross the school gate, I still see the 6 year old me clinging onto my mother’s
hand, so that she doesn’t send him to school. When I hang out with my friends,
I still see the 8 year old me, sitting in one corner of the room, too shy to
talk to anyone.
Trying to cross that frail bridge connecting two banks of a
river has never been easy for me. I’d stand for days and stare at the other
end, wondering how things would be there. Perhaps, I wouldn’t be afraid to
fall. Perhaps, I could let go off my mother’s hand. Perhaps, I could approach
the girl I was dying to talk to.
Fast forward 18 years, and I find myself on the other side
of the river. When I look back, I can see myself taking the first step- afraid to
take a step forward. However, I decide to hold on. I also see myself making my
way halfway across the bridge, limping and dreading the end because I fear I may
collapse any moment. They say there are two kinds of people: ones who see the
glass as half empty and the others who see it as half filled; I must’ve been
the latter, for I decide to carry on. Eventually, I see myself taking the last
step, with cuts and marks all over my body. I’ve fought long enough and nothing
feels better than crossing the bridge and finally placing a foot on the smooth
stretch of grass.
As I process it all in my mind, I realise that the bridge was meant to tumble. I was meant to fall. They say the fruit of victory tastes sweeter after a long, hard battle and it couldn’t get more accurate. If you’re wondering as to what the bridge was, I’ll tell you. It was teenage. As intricate, draining as it is, the teenage is a challenge for all. For the writer of this essay, and for the reader, teenage has gotten the better of us at some point or the other. However, personally speaking, I think I’ve turned out to be alright.
As I process it all in my mind, I realise that the bridge was meant to tumble. I was meant to fall. They say the fruit of victory tastes sweeter after a long, hard battle and it couldn’t get more accurate. If you’re wondering as to what the bridge was, I’ll tell you. It was teenage. As intricate, draining as it is, the teenage is a challenge for all. For the writer of this essay, and for the reader, teenage has gotten the better of us at some point or the other. However, personally speaking, I think I’ve turned out to be alright.
When I look forward this time, I don’t see a bridge anymore.
I see a mountain, namely adulthood. Thomas Jefferson had once said, if you want something that you never had,
you must be willing to do something that you never did.
This time, it’s a bigger challenge. It’s no more about
letting go of my mother’s hand, it’s more about holding her hand and taking
care of her. It’s no more about being afraid to walk into school, it’s more
about walking out of it and being ready for the bitter world that is out there.
This time, there is no river beneath if I fall. However, as afraid as I am to
go through it all and reach the top, I am excited too.
I’m ready to take the extra mile.
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