Every year, teachers ask me at school:

What am I passionate about?

I sit and ponder, unsure of whether I should give the easy answer, 

or if I should go with the hard one. 

The easy answer? I'm passionate about

friends. school. books. reading. and art. 

The hard answer, though, lies within these easily skirted around subjects.

The hard answer shows that I am passionate about

life itself.

Life in all its qualms and quails, life within 

the four walls of my house. Life within the expression

of a word or a thought. life within

the canvas of an artist's hand. life is full of

wonders and mysteries, ready to explore, ready to wake. 

life. 

Why is this a hard answer? is it because

it is not easily accepted as something to be passionate about?

Perhaps. Or

perhaps it is because life is such a vague and broad term, broader than any of the

simple subjects I tried to explain before.

Life includes everything; material and emotional worth, and 

these are things to feel strongly for. 

Passionate about the way people live, the way they die, the way raindrops feel

on a freshly mowed lawn. I'm passionate about the smell

of nailpolish, and the way it drips when held up. I have a passion for 

looking at the different handwritings of my peers, 

analysing the way their hands loop the L and connect the arches of the M.

Passion is for sniffing roses, despite the lack of a strong smell. 

Passion is about lighting up when you get a new book, or the floppy emotion your heart gets

when your crush texts you. Passion

lives in life, and it is impossible to narrow such an affinity for life down to

a few simple subjects.

So, teacher, let me ask you.

Is it possible to choose a singular passion 

when there is so 

much more to love than 

just

one 

thing?