Oh, what a week.

I went to New York City. Great, right? Except that I didn’t want to go, but no one listened. I’ll spare you the blow-by-blow and summarize it instead. Here’s how (nearly) every day went: I woke up. Then, my parents forced me to get dressed and go out for breakfast. Over breakfast, we’d discuss the day’s plan, and my ideas and input were ignored. Then, we’d go spend our day doing whatever they’d decided. (Again, I’ll spare you the blow-by-blow and skip right to the evening.) We’d get back to the hotel, just in time to go out for dinner. After that, we’d come back and go to bed. My parents got the king sized bed, and my sister and I got the twin sized pullout. I slept on the edge of the bed with springs digging into my back, and the sleep I did manage to catch was fitful at best. Then, I’d wake up the next morning and repeat the whole thing.

A couple things stuck in my memory.

First, the couple on the subway. He and his wife stood up on the train and said to us, ”we got evicted from our apartment yesterday and haven’t had a meal since the day before, so if you have it in your hearts, please help us.” Before I knew what I was doing, I was handing them 40. I’m 15; that was a couple months’ allowance, and my parents lectured me for about half an hour about why not to do that kind of thing. Honestly, though, I don’t regret it. I couldn’t let them beg for money on the subway while I had love in my heart and money in my pockets. 

Second, the only good thing that happened the whole trip; we saw Hamilton. It was amazing. I won’t ruin it for you guys, but I will say that it got me thinking. A hundred years from now, who will remember me? No one. I am one in seven billion. No one will remember who I was, or what I did, or how I died. If I die now or in seventy years, it won’t matter; I am one in seven billion. And what holds me here to this earth? My friends? My family? If I died, sure, they’d mourn. But they’d go on. They don’t need me. I am one in seven billion.