The first time I brought my suitcase to college, it was more than just luggage; it was my armour for the unknown. Packed with my mom’s handmade snacks, clothes I’d never worn but thought I might need, a clumsy first-aid kit hastily thrown together, and the stuffed toy (sweet Ellie the elephant) I couldn’t bear to leave behind. I wrestled with it at the conveyor belt, balancing the weights awkwardly in my arms, lacking strength, but my heart was light. I couldn’t wait to unpack in my new room and start a life I’d only imagined until then.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The snacks disappeared one bite at a time, leaving only crumbs and memories of home. The medicines ran low, remembered only in the shuffle of new flu seasons. And those clothes that once felt like a safety net were now dwindled into a pile of worn favourites. Even my stuffed animal, once a nightly companion, grew used to sleeping alone in the corner and found refuge in my suitcase. When it was finally time to pack again, something was different.
By now, I knew the tricks of the trade—checking student discounts on flights and finding ways to lighten the load (both literally and figuratively). But the suitcase was no longer 25 kgs of excitement and naivety. Instead, it was filled with gadgets and tangled wires, a mug with a chipped rim, and papers brimming with scribbled promises and ideas I hadn’t yet chased. The enormous pile of clothes I’d once fussed over no longer seemed worth packing—they looked like a person at night, haunting and unnecessary.
This time, those 25 kgs felt heavier (way to lighten the load). As I stood at the conveyor belt, my hands instinctively reached for the suitcase, only to notice the zip gaping slightly at me in one corner. The sight of its scuffed edges and tired wheels made me pause. This suitcase had been my companion through every season—rolling over smooth floors, gravel, and railway tracks that I crossed illegally– carrying pieces of me. Yet, I had never noticed how ragged it had become.
That’s when it hit me. Those 25 kgs weren’t just the weight of my belongings; it was the weight of my heart. It carried the loud waves of laughter I shared with my roommate over silly tales of campus, the silent cries I was always so scared to let out, the triumphant dances of 10s on quizzes, and the heartbreak of unspoken goodbyes with friends who got lost in translation. It wasn’t just luggage—it was everything I was, and I wanted to be in a small red box with wheels.
With a flicker of hope in my eyes, I lifted that suitcase one last time, struggling a bit less. It had a few bumps, but so much life left in it. It carried on through every change and every season, even with those darned bumpy wheels. And if it can keep rolling through every season, maybe I can, too.