I carry this wooden chest with me
For as long as I can remember.

Maybe I received it
When I was still a child—
Maybe it’s a family heirloom,
Passed down to me
At birth.


Sometimes my fingers
Trace the intricate carvings,
Trying to make out what’s written—
So far, I’ve only found an M and a C.


Some days, the chest is light,
And I hardly notice it.
Other times, its weight is so heavy
I can barely carry it.

It almost slips from my grasp,
But then I remember:
It is mine to bear, always.
So I hold it close—pain and all.


Again, my fingers
Wander along the inscriptions,
Trying to decipher the truth,
Piecing out the Es and the As.


Once, I dared to open the lid—
And invisible briars
Escaped from inside,
Wrapping around my neck,
Tighter and tighter,
Almost suffocating me.

So I slammed it shut—
Or at least I tried.
I’m not sure if I ever succeeded,
Or if I’m still out of breath.


And again, what are those
Symbols trying to tell me?
There is an L engraved,
And for sure, a P.

But the whole meaning?
Still escapes me.


This wooden chest—
It feels like a burden,
And yet, such a part of myself.
And I know that without it—

I would be nothing…
Or would I finally be free?

Maybe, if I decode the carving,
It will set my fate in motion.
Maybe I will breathe again—
Maybe I will be myself, without burden.


So I try again and again,
My fingertips raw from effort,
Until, at last,
I decipher the meaning.


And my breath stops for a moment
As I recognize what’s there—
What was always there:

Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

Frozen, I stand,
The chest still firm in my hand.
At first, in silence—then, with rising strength—
I speak the liberating words:

There is nothing I have to atone for.

And in that exact moment,
It dissolves into mist.
I feel light—truly light—for the first time in my being.
And I could start to cry.


Finally, me.
But who am I now?