I never once regarded myself as one blessed with fortunes, to which was met with no respect. To much of my dismay, a medal that I did not deserve wrapped its rough, coarse ribbon around my neck — a family that I shouldn’t have the luxury of kissed my forehead every morning. How much egregious praise must this corpus go through before my mēns can rest in stillness? —before my mind may rest from climbing the steps of achievement — and simply exist in adequacy?

Mother gave me a gift once for winning. At what? —I could not recall. It was a shiny necklace that glistened with whatever gemstone engraved in whatever material. As I stared at it with my fourteen-year old pupils, my eyes began to water from the intensity at which my sight pierced through the thing. Thing, I repeated —repeated once more. Colorful pieces of paper fell around me, as foreign faces cheered and smiled with glee. A troubling thought came into my apparently priceless brain, as I began to ponder at the sheer meaninglessness of it all. Remove the context, and the pieces of paper become wasted pulp —a slate with no reason to be. Pluck the prestige from gemstones; removing the human assigned value from jewelry, and that necklace becomes naught but elements from the periodic table.

Who would I become, when void of that golden cloak of prodigy I wear against my will?

One autumn night, an unusual illness took hold of my body — a disease whose rapid onset terrified me greatly. It felt as if I was a subject to peine forte et dure, as I felt my chest compressed and crackling under pressure. The edges of my vision began to blur as the pain numbed my mind, perhaps driving me mad in the process, as within that everchanging peripheral space, I saw a womanly figure lean against the walls of my room. Desperate, I reached out my hand towards the nonentity, hoping the final moment of my life may end with company, no matter the realness.