From your first day,
you began to drag it.
Without realizing,
each day it grew heavier.
Social. Cultural. Collective.
The dead weight.
Opinions.
Standards.
Traditions.
Frameworks.
Norms.
But then the day arrives—
because you are fortunate,
because you’ve understood something most never do:
You will die.
And you realize that
passion, love, happiness, experience, connection
are the only things that truly matter.
You want to break free—
from this social framework,
this imposed duty you’ve carried like a cross.
You want to leave the career you detest.
You want to paint—and live by painting.
You want to sing.
You want to dance.
You want to live.
And you know it.
Deep down, everyone knows it.
I hope.
But then comes the moment of decision.
Fear.
Insecurity.
Weight.
The dead weight burdens.
You were always told
life must be lived a certain way.
Weight.
Your parents told you
you had to study law.
Weight.
What will they say?
Weight.
What if I fail?
Weight.
And so you keep dragging it.
Dead weight.
Until one day,
your arms can't take it anymore.
But you know what you want.
You know what moves you.
You know what you'd do if money didn’t exist.
You know your passion.
Your purpose.
And yet,
the weight feels inescapable.
What will they say?
What will my friends think?
My parents?
My family?
My town?
“It’s safer to stay here.”
“Too risky to do what I love.”
Ah, but then—
you realize:
The greatest risk in life
is condemning yourself to exist without living.
Condemning yourself to
hate Monday through Friday.
To look back someday,
and cry in regret.
And with a small light illuminated—
and with great courage—
you let go of the ropes.
You walk.
The dead weight stays behind.
Wow.
How easy it was.
Suddenly,
you are painting.
“What will they say??”
Things.
But me?
I am joyful.
And light.
—BV
