To exist, is to carry weight- of meaning, of memory, of selfhood. Even in the face of life’s fleetingness, we cannot escape the responsibility of how we live; there is no neutral moment, no true release from the awareness of being. Whether it is the inherited weight of historical trauma, the lived memories of an insufficient life, the absurd rudderless floating through time, this heaviness encompasses all. Always becoming and never being, we are sentenced to solitary confinement inside our own skins, we lead a burdened existence, where being seen feels like confinement, unseen like erasure. Within this distortion, every choice, no matter how insignificant, contributes to the construction of the self, allowing no escape from the awareness of it. By articulating the unbearable, we create a collective witness to the lives we lead.
It might then appear, that which may be occurring only once and recurring with thousands of individuals every day, is unworthy of such elaborate consideration. But  perhaps in doing so, this unbearable heaviness justifies its being. This penning down of a trifling life is a cathartic act, that allows one to survive in this murky world of pretenses, injustice and mostly, heaviness.