For When I Forget
Dear Past Me,
I saw a picture of you the other day
Smiling wide
Sitting in a reclining chair with space your small body couldn't fill
With curly hair tamed into two puffs on the side of your head.
You were very young
But old enough to notice the bugs on the walls
To peek around the corner as Mom and Dad argued late at night
To think that your friend’s blonde hair might be prettier than yours
To cry when you realized how different you were.
You got older
(So sorry about that)
And Dad left
You saw him less.
Mom helped your wild curls fly free and you cried, seeing only an ugly lion
And you begged her for a perm
A little while after a director cast you as the dog in a play
Because to her your hair was perfect for the part.
You tortured your hair into a frayed straightness
You struggled to be white enough for the popular kids
And black enough for your family
And you learnt to hate what you had been given
The body
The skin
The hair
The clothes
The parents
The life
I’m eighteen.
I am still young.
A year ago
This guy
Peter
He died
And you
I
We
We still have not stopped crying.
I don’t want to lie to you
And tell you that we’re completely happy all the time now
That all we have is joy and prosperity
Because at some point back then
Where you are
We stopped being in the constant state of happy
That youth seems to give.
There are words you’ll learn
Like depression
Or suicide
Or anxiety
Or student debt
That will grow close to you
That you won’t forget
But they and the experiences they give
Are not always things you’ll want to give back
Because you wrote a piece
About childhood and sadness and not knowing where to go or who to be
And when you performed it people cried
It was the most honest thing some had ever seen.
The life you’ll live
Gives life to everything you create as the artist we’ll become.
You’re afraid
Of money
Of adulthood
Of the future
Of being afraid
But you still keep stepping forward.
Your hair isn’t straight
It’s short
(No, not like Halle Berry)
It’s curly
It takes hours to twist and persuade into waves
It’s culture
It’s history
It’s time spent with your mother
And you love it.
You love you.
Sometimes.
Sometimes it’s easier to hate
Or to want something else
Darker or lighter skin
Different hair
Different clothes
But when you love
You love
Because you’re something to be adored.
You go to school in the city
In a dorm where mice come dangerously close to your bed
And your roommates drive you crazy
And the chai lattes down the street threaten your wallet
And it terrifies you how big or wide or vast or busy it is
But you love it because this is where you’ll be made into something great.
It’s where you were meant to be
Regardless of the anxiety
Or tears
Or drama.
And look, listen, actually pay attention, because I know this is long and you might’ve gotten bored
This is important:
Happiness isn’t constant.
Sometimes it’s temporary
But it always comes back.
At some point you realize the power you have
And the choices you can make
And the roads you can take
To bring it back.
There’s happiness in stress
When you’re stressed making something you love.
There’s happiness in that crappy dorm room
Because it’s crappy in New York.
It’s not your fault
That your parents split
That your mother can’t always make doctors visits
That money seems more and more out of reach
Or where Peter ended up.
There are things you can’t always control.
And there’s value in what you create.
You forget, sometimes.
About love
About control
About choices.
But then you make yourself remember.
It’s hard.
But please
Please
Please
Remember.
Sincerely,
You
(Just a little older)
P.S. Yeah. It’s still hard to spell sincerely.