Meandering lazily through the air, the crystalline spheres glimmer in the sunlight. They are certainly in no hurry; while they have everywhere to go, they have nowhere in particular to be. As a light breeze whisks by, the little globes dance playfully, bouncing off each other while showing off their marvelous sheen of colors- fuchsia, indigo, teal, and at the precise angle, a shade of deep gold. With no hesitation, a courageous leader begins its journey as it merges gracefully into the distant sunset with its followers at its wake. Pausing only seconds to admire, I create another band of bubbles, fulfilling my most youthful eccentricity.
Throughout my life, I have remained oddly and unusually captivated by bubble blowing. At the age of three, I would sit on the heavily worn, wooden bench in my backyard, arms laden with colorful bottles of soapy solution, organizing my collection of assorted magic bubble wands.
My spare hours were spent filling the yard with flawless, circular orbs of varying sizes, and watching in amazement as they drifted aimlessly over the neighbor’s roof or swirled together in the wind, creating a mini simulation of a tornado.
In elementary school, bubble blowing proved to be the obvious source of my boundless wonder and tendency to question. As I desperately stared after the floating bubbles, curiosity enveloped my mind. I was baffled as I discovered that some bubbles could occasionally land elegantly upon the waxy surface of a leaf, thoroughly intact, while most self-destructed upon touching any object. The thought that the bubbles could be captured with my miracle wand but not with my bare hands was incomprehensible. Why were some bubbles able to reach seeming unattainable heights, while others were destroyed seconds after their creation? Even at the early age of seven, I sought the explanation.
The wonder bubble blowing once brought me as a child, has kept with me through the years. As a seventeen year-old, I now understand the science of bubbles, but continue to sift through the infinite pool of questions and the possibilities that they promise. Every answer I find is only the beginning of a new question, another mystery, another unknown to solve and path to create. Just like for a bubble, for me there is always more to explore.
Today, I am both the bubble blower and the bubble that is blown. Ten years later, I still follow the path of each bubble I blow. With every breath, I put a piece of myself into the world, watch it drift away, theorize where the breeze will take me and when my destination will be reached. In these moments, I am both the creator and the adventurer, no longer strapped to the laws of the world, but wholly free. I long for the time spent forming questions, seeking answers, losing myself in the wonder of it all. I yearn to observe, to understand every element of the world, to find the reasons as to why it can never all be in order.
I am not, however, a typical bubble. When crashing into objects, I do not break. Although carried by the wind, I do not wander aimlessly, but rather move with passion, deliberation, and purpose. Unlike most bubbles, when veering off course, I leave myself a path to come back to. I always find my way, although not hurriedly. Unlike any other bubble, I am not trapped by the chemistry of the Earth’s atmosphere. While in the air, I am invincible.
