How many burdens do you carry? How many have you passed through your kin? How much of your burden is not yours to carry?
I have struggled with these questions.
What burdens are mine? My shoulders are weakened by these unanswered questions.
I know that maybe this is just family tradition, I was given them at birth. Yet, I did not pick them. I would like to know why I have inherited them. Have my brother have them? Does my sister struggle with similar questions?
What if I did not care to nurture them anymore?
Would they die with me?
Or still be gifted to my kin?
And if they were given to my kin, how would my kin feel?
Would they bare it like Atlas, strap it to their backs and lift with their knees?
Or never speak of it. Hide it in a locket around their neck, neatly tucked under their shirts.
Would they take time to calculate their percentage of the age old burden? Or bury it somewhere in the country, deep into the side of a mountain, with the rest of the ancestors.
I’d hope they would give the burden back to the rightful owners.
I hope with all my being left, they are mighty enough to confront the age old tradition. I hope they give each burden back, to each dead being in the grave.
I am weary of carrying the ancient decisions of my elders.
I wish you luck, my child.
The size of the burden does not determine its weight.
It is heavy.
It has nearly buried me with its ominous weight.
I now understand why the burden is so easily passed without a second thought.
I just hope my guilt does not add to its weight.