Eternal Ephemerals

The old fire

She stood on the stage, bright lights shining down, the audience filled with parents and students. Her name had just been called, echoing through the microphone, followed by applause that sounded hollow in her ears. She stepped forward, smiling, her face a mask of practiced politeness, and took the plaque from the principal. It was heavy, engraved with her name, and it glittered beneath the lights—a symbol of everything she had worked for, everything she thought she wanted.

"Congratulations," the principal said, shaking her hand. She thanked him, her voice clear and steady, and turned to face the audience. There were cheers, clapping, cameras flashing. She saw her parents in the front row, beaming, her mother's eyes shining with pride. She saw her friends, some smiling, some with knowing looks in their eyes. And she saw the little kids, eyes wide, pointing and whispering, looking up at her as if she were someone special. One girl caught her eye, her small face open with admiration, her expression bright with dreams she hadn't yet learned to doubt.

She smiled at that girl, and a strange feeling bloomed in her chest—a sense of wistfulness, a longing for something that had slipped away, something she couldn't quite put into words.

When she was that little girl, sitting in the audience, she remembered watching someone else stand on this stage. She remembered how her heart had swelled with hope and determination. She had told herself, "One day, that will be me. One day, I will be the one who will hold the plaque." It had been a promise to herself, a goal that had shaped her days and her choices. She had worked tirelessly, staying up late to study, sacrificing weekends, turning down invitations from friends. It had been worth it then. The work had fueled her, given her purpose. She had felt like she was moving toward something great, something meaningful.

But now, standing here, plaque in hand, she felt... nothing. The applause was just noise, the weight of the trophy only a dull reminder that it was all over. She had reached her goal. She had achieved what she had set out to do. But the sweetness she had imagined, the sense of fulfillment, of finally being enough—it wasn't there. She had thought that reaching the top would make her feel complete, but instead, it left her feeling hollow, as if all the energy she had put into climbing had nowhere to go now that the summit had been reached.

After the ceremony, the younger students came up to her, their eyes shining, their voices full of excitement as they congratulated her. "I want to be like you someday," one boy said, his face open and eager, his future stretching out before him like an endless road. She smiled at him, a real smile this time, and said, "Thank you. I'm sure you'll do even better."

But inside, she felt a pang of envy—not for his admiration, but for his innocence. For his belief that reaching a goal was the pinnacle, that it was the end of the story where everything would be perfect. She remembered being that kid, looking at older students with awe, feeling like all her dreams would come true if she could just be in their place.

And now that she was in their place, she realized that what she had truly cherished was the striving—the thrill of trying, the fire that had driven her to push forward. That fire had been her true companion, the warmth that had made every late night, every small sacrifice worthwhile. Without it, the achievement felt empty.

Maybe that was the truth of it. The fun had always been in the journey, in the striving, in the late-night study sessions and the quiet moments of determination. The goal itself was just a point in time, a dot on the timeline of her life. It wasn't an end; it was just a pause, a moment to catch her breath before finding a new direction.

She realized then that what she needed wasn't this plaque or this applause. What she needed was a new goal, a new journey to embark on. Something to fill the emptiness, something to set her heart on fire again. She didn't want to be stuck here, holding on to something that didn't mean as much as she'd thought it would. She needed a new dream, something to work toward—not for the applause or the recognition, but for herself. For the joy of the journey, for the excitement of becoming, not just being.

She put the plaque aside that night, letting it rest on her desk, and she sat by her window, staring out at the stars. There was a whole world out there, so many things she hadn't seen, hadn't done. She closed her eyes and let herself dream, let herself imagine something new. Maybe she would travel. Maybe she would try her hand at something completely different, something she wasn't already good at, something that would challenge her and make her grow.

The specifics didn't matter right now. What mattered was that spark, the sense of possibility, the thrill that came from not knowing exactly where she was going but being excited to start. She smiled to herself, a quiet smile, and felt a flicker of that old fire, that familiar warmth spreading through her chest.

It was time for a new goal, a new journey. And this time, she promised herself, she would enjoy every moment of it—not just the end, but every step along the way.