Tenzin Choezom, Overall Winner

I skim through the book, its pages dull and text faded, looking for words and phrases- a source of energy- that will give me the motivation I need to start the 314-page novel, The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera, for my sophomore year European Literature class. After minutes of leafing around, my fingers wind up at the very third page, where Kundera discusses the lightness vs. weight opposition. He argues that it “is the most ambiguous of all”, and furthers, “if eternal return is the heaviest of burdens, then our lives can stand out against it in all their splendid lightness. But is heaviness truly deplorable and lightness splendid?” Lips slightly parted and eyebrows furrowed in concentration, I read and reread those lines. My eyes carve into the page as the words carve themselves into my mind and I am bemused.

Of course, lightness is splendid. Lightness is a feather- it’s the ability to soar and soaring is certainly splendid.

However, I lean back in my bed, staring blankly ahead, trying to make sense of the question and arrive at a logical answer. Eventually, my eyes rest on a toy plane, not bigger than my palm, sitting on the bookshelf in my room. Picking it up, I am taken aback by how light it is and how much heavier it appeared when I first held it in my hand that May of 2010. My father had gifted it to me, after stepping foot on American soil, and I remember marveling at it for months, tracing my fingers across its figure: the same model as the plane my mother and I fled India in, Continental Airlines.

Flying away from poverty, political crises, inadequate education systems, and poor living conditions allowed a burden to be lifted from my family’s back. Our new one-bedroom apartment in Queens was as grand as the ocean I flew over in comparison with the run-down corridors of our neglected apartment complex that was housing far more people than it should have been. I was amazed by the new school I attended along with its stationeries and supplies I had never laid my eyes on before, facilities I could only dream of in my poorly funded school in India.

Yet, instead of feeling relieved, or free and light, I have come to realize that the transition has left an even heavier weight on my conscience. As Tibetans living in exile, my parents had so little, but they always bought fresh pomegranates, which were quite the delicacy in our provincial village, for me. I still listen to my father’s stories about our life in the third-world country- recollections of strolls on the dusty streets, stopping every once in a while to greet a friend, and eating pizza with a breathtaking view of the clouds on the Dharmshala landscape. Furthermore, my parents both held stable jobs: my father was a teacher and my mother was a secretary, so despite the poor income, they had relatively small workloads. In stark contrast, they both currently work as manual laborers, coming home fatigued and aching at the end of each day and my heart shatters watching them every single time.

I bear the additional weight of longing for the familiar scent of my grandmother’s embrace, the mountainous terrain of our Ghangkyi home, and the rich spiciness of laphing, a Tibetan noodle dish, from street vendors lining the city, is a load that I carry with me to every tennis match, piano recital, and karaoke night with my friends. It is a reminder that lingers in the back of my mind during every 2 A.M. study session and mathematics lesson I tutor.

The new lavish accommodations of America have instilled within me gratitude for the opportunity to come to America unlike so many suffering Tibetans back in Tibet, India, and Nepal, a responsibility to stay true to my Tibetan identity, as well as earnest, to make sure my parents’ sacrifices were not in vain.

Alas, I continue to come back to the toy airplane and the question that Kundera puts forth, “Is heaviness truly deplorable and lightness splendid”, to this day. The palm-sized memento is almost as old as I am. Its paint has chipped off, the wheels have fallen, and its miniature beacon light no longer flashes, but the weight and importance that it carries have only become heavier as I continue to tread forward; it now serves as a guiding light as I aspire to save others’ lives in the future, just as mine was saved.

Now, what seemed apparent at first no longer feels right. Lightness means soaring, but it also implies insignificance, and although weight is a load I must carry, it stands for all that is who I am- it keeps me standing, grounded, and ready- and there is nothing more splendid than that.

Likewise, changing the world does not always mean that I will invariably make big and powerful decisions. At times, I will tread carefully, with steps as light as a feather. However, where it matters most, I will make sure that my steps are beneficial to others, confident, and heavy.