The more you know, the harder it gets.

“The more you know, the harder it gets."
—Ken Hsieh

That was a quote from Ken Hsieh that stayed with me as it echoes the shape of my life. When I was younger, I believed that growing up would bring clarity, that the world would somehow make sense. But the more I learned, the more I lived, the heavier it all became. Knowledge did not grant me simplicity, but instead it replaced innocence with a complexity I was never prepared to bear.

Looking back, my memories are a strange blend of pain and beauty, stitched together like a patchwork quilt. I miss the days when the weight was lighter, when the future stretched out before me unclouded, free of the burdens I now carry. Life was simpler back then. I was immature, quick to anger, reckless in my emotions. But in some strange way, that was the purest version of myself. I miss that person who dreamed without fear, the one who didn’t yet know the cost of living.

Perhaps it was the chaos of my upbringing that shaped me. So many changes, so much instability—enough to force a child to grow up too soon. At fifteen, I had to learn to care for myself, to navigate a world that felt indifferent to my struggles. With no family nearby, I had no choice but to mature quickly, to step into shoes far too big for me. Sometimes I wonder if I grow up too fast, if I left pieces of myself behind in the rush to survive.

Life’s hardships have a strange way of propelling me forward. It’s the struggles, the roadblocks, the pain that kept me moving, kept me striving to do more, to be more. They pushed me further than I ever thought I could go. But they also left scars—deep ones. The same forces that drove me forward also planted seeds of trauma, burdens I still carry in the quiet hours of the night.

At the age of sixteen, I found myself drunk alone almost every night, searching for some way to quiet the storm inside me.  Sleep felt impossible with the weight of everything I was carrying, and I didn’t know how else to cope. Numbing the pain seemed like the only way to make it through. Even now, there are nights when that same heaviness creeps back in, pressing down on me, and I can’t help but wonder if these wounds will ever truly heal.

Now, after all these years, I can no longer see the world with the same eyes. The small and large moments of life have changed me, reshaped me in ways I never expected. At times I wonder: Was the wisdom I gained worth the innocence I lost? I would give anything—any amount of wealth—to return to those early days, to feel the lightness of being again. But time is a currency I cannot buy back, no matter how much I long for it. And so the thought lingers: 

If nothing lasts, why do we bother holding on at all?

If you ask me how it feels to live alone after all this time, I’d say: It’s lonely, but not lonely. I’m grateful for the people in my life, for the fleeting moments of connection that brighten the days. But every night, I return to an empty space, a quiet room that holds only me. I ponder about life: 

What is there waiting for me? What is it that I’m holding on for?

There’s a strange irony in how life unfolds. I used to judge people for their actions, to hate them for the choices they made. But now, I find myself walking the same paths, making the same mistakes. They say you become the person you hate the most. I wonder if my younger self would look at me now and see someone to admire or someone to pity. Would they see the strength it took to get here, or would they see the cracks, the pain, the missteps along the way? I don’t know.

I’ve had the privilege to travel, to laugh with friends, to savor the small joys that life offers. I tell myself these moments lighten the load, and perhaps they do, if only for a while. But the weight never truly leaves. It lingers, shadow-like, waiting for me in the silence. And I question if it will always be this way? Is this what life is: carrying the weight and searching for meaning in the spaces in between?

Maybe there are no answers. Maybe there don’t need to be. Life moves forward, and we carry its weight the best we can.

”Yesterday is history, tomorrow is mystery, but today is a gift.” -Master Oogway