“Your great-grandfather is no more,” my heart-broken mother said to me. Merely a twelve year old girl, I asked, “Are you going to cry?” She grimaced slightly and then said to me, “You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only option you’re left with.” Little had I known that these were words I would never forget. The things that I carry include an eternal bank of memories, both troubling and satisfying, a backpack, and the fingerprints on my hands. Anywhere I step, these particular things follow me like shadows, walking beside me in the daylight and resting in my mind at nightfall.

Although I cannot control all that I carry, I decide the weight and importance of each thing in my life. Since birth, it has been seventeen years. Seventeen years of labor. Seventeen years of happiness. Throughout my life, I have accumulated a countless amount of memories, from my first footsteps to my high school beginnings. I carry the burdensome guilt of making someone cry. I carry the joy of becoming someone’s smile. I look back at these bittersweet memories, and I can only realize how much I have grown in character. I carry a smile. Sometimes, real. Sometimes, only a show to hide my vulnerability in an overwhelmingly exposed world. The smile depicts my strength as I wear it to reveal my happiness or bear through tough times.

Just like any ordinary teenager living in America, I carry a backpack over my shoulder for nearly half of a day for nearly half of a lifetime. While most people solely carry books and homework in their bags, I carry my intellectual development and academic stress within binders full of papers. Just a glance at my almost worn-out blue backpack reminds me of all the labor I have been through in prior years. I walk through the halls with hunched shoulders caused by the immense weight of the bag. My books aren’t heavy. The true weight of the backpack is defined by the level of seemingly endless academic stress I undergo every day and night.

Though effortlessly, I carry the fingerprints on my hands which are the expression of my originality in an increasingly homogeneous world. My fingerprints are me. They are unique only to me. Everywhere I go, I lend a bit of myself to everything and everyone I touch. Moreover, I leave my impact on the world through the form of fingerprints. These are the most special things I carry because no matter how hard someone tries to steal them, they can never be taken away from me. They are mine, and I proudly own them. My fingerprints remind me of the purest form of myself, away from judgments by people around me. They tell me that I know myself better than anyone else does. I am unique because no one in this world shares my fingerprints. I am unique by birth. I am unique because I stand by myself.

The things I carry – an eternal bank of memories, a backpack full of academic stress, and fingerprints reflecting my originality – have all helped shape my character. They have made me a stronger person and contribute to the development of my passion, personality, and goal. I share a special bond with these things, and when I reflect back, they assure me that I will have no regrets.