Sixteen years ago I made my first friend. I clung to him day and night, his dull brown eyes and scarlet arms lingering in my mind while I went to school. During the day he sat next to me while I finished my homework, and at night, rested neatly in my arms. In between my fingers I twirled around this lifelong companion: a bleak amalgamation of a miniature piece of caramel-colored wool fastened onto the head and arms of a stuffed bear. As a result of almost two decades of wear, this animal blanket, which my 2-year-old self appropriately named “Bear,” is now missing one of his ears and half of his body’s sleek exterior lining. Yet, he is still invaluable to me.  

From the first week I owned Bear, I was obsessed. Bear was one of two toy blankets that my identical twin brother and I received as a gift from my parents’ close friend. I slept comfortably with his soft fabric clenched tightly to my chest, cherishing him to the point that my fingers quivered in his absence. When Bear inexplicably ventured off on his own, I stayed up in the evening frantically searching, refusing to sleep. Acknowledging the predicament I was in, my brother would offer his blanket to me, but I never accepted. While he was ready to share his, I was still unequivocally loyal to mine. 

Attachments are a major part of my life; I become tethered easily and utterly. I have not only accepted this quirk but learned to appreciate it. In school my interests are just as essential to me.

The marvel of calculus completely possesses me; formulas and series skimming through my mind, it draws my curiosity like nothing else. I crave the moments when variables fit perfectly to reveal solutions, enjoy every assignment we receive, and eagerly anticipate new concepts. First, take the derivative, then find critical numbers and test them in the second derivative, and voila- you’ve obtained the maximum values of a function. With calculus in the forefront of my mind, I chose to take physics against the laments of my friends- how could I not?

  Staying active outside of the classroom is also imperative to me. Although I only began cross country as another way to train, now it's a genuine passion that has stuck with me for years. The mild sogginess of the morning dew dampens my shoes while I jog and the blazing, comforting warmth of the summer heat envelops my skin like a sauna. Wind zips past my arms soaked in sweat, my mind reverting to a desolate state until I reach the finish line. When I run, my body urges for rest, its voice amplifying the longer I continue. But every time I push myself through all the aches and discomforts, the gratification I redeem trumps any sort of leisure I could imagine. 

Whether I’m in calculus or cross country, I’m never alone. An unspoken connection sparks between me and my teammates when I run alongside them, despite our only form of communication being the rustling of our sneakers beneath us. We support each other through the most exhausting runs without even speaking a word. When my classmates and I are studying for calculus exams, we spend hours of lunchtime preparing for the most daunting minutes of our week. These unique bonds with my peers that I’ve forged through arduous trials are valuable possessions that I still hold onto.

In my mind, every facet of the evolving repository that holds my passions is joined together seamlessly. I meditate deeply in my studies, yet am always prepared for action. I power relentlessly through races and tests alike. And just like how I tirelessly searched for my beloved Bear, I will always devote myself entirely to any relationship I encounter and every pursuit I undertake.