The unexplainable need to know everything
I’m 14 years old as I write this.
I have read around 30-40 books in my life. And my own thoughts tell me that it is not enough. Not even close to enough.
I need more and I wish and long for more. I have grown into this mindset where I should be able to respond to questions with deep philosophical perspectives or aspects. The kind that sounds as if filled with such surreal wisdom that you are convinced to follow this person.
I wish to be so disgustingly educated in all various kinds of topics—the universe, the stars, our planet, medicine, law, engineering, chemistry, mathematics, and much more. I cannot bear to fathom that because of what life expects from me, my longing for this education is near impossible.
Once I have grown in age, I will have to choose a course for college that I wish to pursue my entire life. And the option to keep studying is not practical considering I do not have a wealthy background. So how can I complete my life-long goal if it is due to life itself that is preventing it? What if I don’t want to be just a doctor, just an engineer, or just a philosopher?
The world is not built for minds like this. It wasn’t designed for the souls that ache with the hunger for knowledge. And I don’t mean that in the purest form. I mean obsession. The disgusting obsession to understand.
In this reality, I am expected to choose one from my passions and label the rest as mere “hobbies.” Then I’ll have to bury them. Completely. And it pains me that maybe none of these passions will survive once I am older. That this hunger I feel will eventually fade into dust. That I will have to silence my wandering mind in order to pay bills. To the world, a dreamer is seen as a lost cause. A fool. And knowing all of this makes me feel sick—realizing that there will be endless shelves of books that I will never be able to read, languages I’ll never learn, and theories I’ll never grasp. I feel as if I am drowning, but the water is made out of knowledge, and I am not allowed to breathe. It is as if I am dying, but slowly, so slowly as age consumes me. Because to most, knowledge is a tool. A means to an end. To me, it is breath. It is blood. It is life.
Others may perceive me as someone who strives academically, but I feel that is not the right word to use. For society, to strive is by following their system: chase grades, achieve titles, and climb the ladder. But I do not wish to climb. I want to wander. I feel as if I need to be a witness to the beauty of mankind’s discoveries. Or at least, feel it before I disappear. Yet I am watching it slip from me before I’ve even had the chance to truly begin.
As I grow to realize that I cannot continue being a dreamer in this society, I am afraid of the future version of myself. The one that has to pay bills, the one that has to sit in an office and stare at a clock for hours, eager to leave and go home. The kind that longs to rest in bed during free time instead of studying their passions. Because it is not known as passion anymore, it is remembered as hobbies. Hobbies I had as a kid, that I had to bury so deep, that the adult me cannot remember any longer. Being terrified over this means I had succumbed to acceptance. That I had betrayed my yearning mind. That I had grown up.
I fear that when I am older, someone will ask me what I wanted to be when I was young, and I couldn’t give them one answer. The child that I once was wanted to become a mathematician, an engineer, an astronaut, a librarian, a barista, a photographer, a teacher, a doctor, a historian, a writer, a chemist, a lawyer, a pianist, a sculptor, and a thousand other things. And I think that is what hurts the most.
Knowing that despite pouring every second of my existence into learning, it wouldn’t be enough. I could read a thousand books, and I’d still feel behind. I could master a dozen subjects, and still lie awake at night aching for the ones I didn’t have time to touch. There’s simply too much. Too many books. Too many thoughts. Too many unanswered questions. And not enough time. And I am just one person. One small, exhausted person in a world that moves too fast. I will never be satisfied. Yet, I cannot let this go. For letting go feels as if murdering myself.
I do not wish to be remembered. I do not care to be admired. I simply long to know. To understand. And once I am older and someone asks me who I wanted to be, I will lie. For the truth is too heavy. Too shameful. That I had wanted to be everything, yet I only became something.
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Annika Sanchez, 14, studies at Gospel Light Christian Academy in Quezon City.
