Dearest Self:

Life has been challenging these past few years, which is undoubtedly an understatement. Despite these challenges, you should be so grateful for your ability to persevere through hardship–something you learned as a child. You should be proud of your wherewithal as you show your resilience through insurmountable pain. Without those character traits, you may not be here today to share your story of what it looks like to survive AGAINST ALL ODDS.  

When the Camp Fire tore through the community of Paradise, California, on November 8, 2018, taking anything and everything in its path, including your home of 30 years, you thought that it would be the worst, most painful experience in your life. As it turned out, you were wrong. 

During the summer of 2021, your family suffered a second catastrophic fire—the Dixie Fire, which consumed your little lake house, as you call it, at Lake Almanor, California. Although you called it your lake house, your cabin was not near the lake, nor was it a traditional house. It was a refurbished mobile home constructed in the 1970s but remodeled into a cute cabin style–all the walls had tongue and groove wood throughout, with cabin-like decor in every room. It was a place where your youngest son and husband retreated after your family home burned to the ground.

Little did you know that one year later, in March of 2022, you would sustain a fall in your classroom that would drastically change your life. Eventually, your beloved teaching job ended because of the injury you suffered in your classroom.
 
Within two years of the Dixie Fire, life continued to be challenging. For some time, you dealt with a nagging cough and the feeling of breathlessness. Do you remember driving down the freeway one day after work, talking with your dearest friend from Paradise? As you spoke, she reminded you that you should see a doctor about your cough. If you were being honest about life, you had put off going to your doctor because of the ongoing chaos and, frankly, depression that you felt. During the summer of 2022, after going through a variety of tests, you were diagnosed with a progressive, irreversible, and terminal disease: Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis. 

Do you remember sitting on your patio after your doctor gave you the news? You sat there in shock. You were stunned–at that point, you expressed utter sadness that you would likely die of the same disease your father had died of. At that point in your life, you would never have guessed that a nagging cough would lead you down this path. 

That next year of life, 2023, you had to get used to attending many specialist visits–from appointments with two different pulmonologists, a cardiologist, a neurologist and a Physical Therapist. What seems just insanely unfair and tragic at the same time is that one year after receiving your IPF diagnosis, in October of 2024,  you would receive news of a second terminal illness–Progressive Supranuclear Palsy, which is a rare neurodegenerative brain disease. 

Most people you tell your story to often look at you with sorrow and amazement. They usually say something to the effect that you are a survivor. You’ve frequently shared that you are living because there is no other choice. You have the support of a fantastic husband of 38 years, two adult sons, your sisters, and several lifelong friends. Plus, you have two faithful Akita dogs to live for. You have lost your autonomy these past few years and often depend on your hubby to help you with daily tasks. You walk with a walker now–your brain is a bit slower, as are the words you speak, and your gait is a little bit wonky. Your stamina is much less these days, and you have often complained that you sleep more than you’d like to admit. 

You recently shared that although you’ve lost material possessions and (some of) your independence over the past 6 years, you’ve gained a new perspective-enjoy each day as you live it and love each person like it’s the last day you’ll spend with them. None of us are guaranteed a tomorrow. YOU are an example of a true fighter. As you tell anyone who wants to listen to your story, you will not go down without a fight. You will never allow fires, a severe back injury, or even two terminal illnesses to define who you are. You will continue to fight the battle until there is no fight left in you. You should be PROUD of who you have become. YOU  are a survivor, AGAINST ALL ODDS.

Remember the way you’d fold into corners,
curling like leaves just to feel
the warmth of your own breathing,
the small life you made for yourself in that space—
a fortress of playing records, and studying, and honey lattes
hands reaching for corners to make a home.

That little room, those early hours,
you were everything and everyone to yourself
but in your marrow pulsed a gentler pulse,
one that said, I have always known heartbreak.
It sang in the spaces between your breaths,
beneath your olive skin, under your flecked flesh.

Sometimes I dial your number and can’t speak
because I am here, and you are there,
separated only by years and questions, but sprawled on familiar floors—
playing records, studying, sipping honey lattes,
acquainted by heartbreak.
A little bruised, but softer for it.

There are times I wish we’d live separate lives, ask nothing, and live,
but you fashioned my path, like clay in willing hands.
So, dear self, hold on to that little room—those honey lattes,
the records that spin our stories into the air,
and every loss, a lesson carved in lines of courage—
as we continue through life—steady, hand in hand.

Dear Deaja, people don’t say this to you enough, so I decided to take some time to say it today. Thank you for everything you do for yourself and everyone around you. Girl you are tough, funny, honest and you work your ass off. How any times have stepped in for someone else, without them asking? You never stop doing the right thing, not to mention all the times you stepped up for any member of your family when they needed you the most, your awesome and you better never forget that you are. Even if no one ever tells you this again I’m going to repeat it. Thank you for being your great self and you better never stop.

Dear My Senior Self,

I hope your last year of high school is treating you well. Hopefully biomed is not too troublesome. Science has always been easy for us. Well… most of the time. I’m currently struggling with my chemistry course. College is definitely harder than high school. Ignore what our teachers say, or the idea that it gets easier.

But that is not why I’m writing to you. Last weekend, I saw him. Five months later. Him. The boy. The boy you loved so much. The boy who made you bend down laughing at his antics. The boy you could talk with for hours about life’s greatest questions and never grow tired of it. The boy who towered high above you yet was the gentlest and clumsiest person you knew. The boy you dreamed about, who made you want to show just how much he meant to you. The boy who made your heart skip a beat whenever he smiled. The boy who broke that same heart without even knowing it, over and over again. The boy you cried for. The boy you still pray for.

Thank you for loving the boy who struggled with his own demons and trusted you enough to reveal them. Thank you for patiently listening to him vent to you about the girl he never fell out of love with, oblivious to how you were absolutely dying inside with feelings you knew could never be uttered out loud. Thank you for being a good friend who remembered his birthday, even though he forgot about yours. Thank you for loving the boy who never loved you back, nor really cared about you.

You might be wondering why I do not hate you for loving that boy. Questioning why I do not resent you for losing yourself and your peace to him, only for him to willfully dismiss it or be blissfully ignorant of the pain he caused. Instead, I express my utmost gratitude. Because you loved that boy so much- you learned the cruel, cold truth at the pinnacle age of 17. You learned that falling in love with somebody, only for it to be torturous and heartbreaking the entire ride, is the only way to truly learn how to love and defend yourself.

I owe it to you, my senior self. I am no longer afraid to acknowledge a lost cause and walk away. I no longer fear the what ifs that held me back before, the things that stopped me from leaving a situation that only harms me. I have the courage to stand up and fight for myself. Because of you, I stood up to him and expressed the bottled-up pain and turmoil he brought to our “friendship.” Even that was painful, as I was forced to put my secret feelings aside to prioritize my dignity for once. Thanks to you, I will never look back and become Lot’s wife.

I ran into that boy last weekend, five months after I graduated and moved on to bigger and better things. I still thought about him. Every time I hear the Backseat Lovers, I think of him. When I saw him, the tiny sliver of me that still cares was disappointed that he seems the same… since I have changed so much in so little time. I wonder if he noticed any subtle differences in me. Whether I seem more confident and self-assured, more independent. No… probably not. Nor will he ever know about the old wounds and unspoken words towards him that I will take with me to the grave. Nor the book I started writing, nor the incredible people I have met, nor the adventures that come with starting a new chapter in my life: college.

My dear senior self… Thank you for helping me see reality and teaching me to accept it. The cold, disappointing reality that the boy you loved, the one who listened to you passionately rant about your dream to become a veterinarian someday… forgot what college you are attending. And deep down, you know he also forgot the words he said to you that December night, in the church kitchen. When he said he could see the excitement in your eyes when you talked about your future.

So… Thank you. Thank you for choosing to love the boy who only hurt you. For showing me the consequences of being blinded by love, so I will never experience them again. For showing me at such an early age when to move on and walk away without regrets. For teaching me to accept reality so my heart can no longer be hurt. Thank you for loving that boy. The boy who rewired our heart.

With Love from the Future,
Elena Mendonsa

Dear little Chloe,

I’m just gonna rip the Bandaid off quickly, and I apologize because I know you were always more of a peel-the-Bandaid kind of girl. But trust me that it’s easier if I just tell you that you’re a lesbian.

Yeah, you heard me right.

I’m not sure if you even know what being a lesbian means, I know Mom and Dad never talked to you about sexuality or the queer community, they always just assumed you would grow up, fall in love, and marry a man. Being a lesbian is no different, you grow up, fall in love, but you fall in love with a woman.

And no, there’s nothing wrong with that, despite what you’ve been told.

I know you’ve had trouble being vulnerable with your feelings, expressing what’s going on inside your head, and being honest with yourself. I know that you feel the need to suppress the love you have towards others, and God, I know you have so much love in your heart to give.

I know that deep down in your introverted soul, you want to experience love one day. You long for having someone to love, and to receive that kind of love back. I know you search for it, filling your daydreams with this boy or that boy, and you think you like them because boys are the only thing you know to associate with love. The possibility of love with a girl has never crossed your mind.

But, do you remember Jackie? The girl you met in your karate class? You hated karate because it required too much yelling and that clashed with your quiet personality. You quit after three classes, but you didn’t stop thinking about Jackie. You wanted to be her “best friend,” she was the only thing you looked forward to in that karate class.

Or the girl named Carly in your cooking class you took when you were about eight? I know you were flustered when she gave you a hug on the last day of class, and you thought about the hug in the backseat of Mom’s car on the way home.

What about Avery, the girl in your drama class? You wanted to get to know her better, so you would try to sit next to her in class and talk to her during breaks. You didn’t know why you were so drawn to her or why you didn’t have a crush on any boy during middle school.

You finally figured it out in high school, with this girl Avalon. She was older than you and funnier than you, which is a rare occurrence because you’re pretty damn funny. But, it drew you towards her, you found her alluring, magnetic in a way. She was everything to you, you aspired to be her, but you aspired for more, you just couldn’t put your finger on what. It clicked one day after having a conversation with her, you had never felt so seen before. You finally came to terms that you liked her, and yes, you liked a girl.

Love with women comes easy to you, you don’t even have to try. They take your breath away, they mystify you, they’re like a challenge. Tough, but once you figure them out, rewarding. And when you fall for a girl, you fall hard. It’s unlike anything you have ever felt from a boy.

I’m not saying it was that easy, though, in fact it was difficult on you. You faced a lot of self-doubt in your feelings rather than just trusting your gut. You tried to bottle up the feelings towards her, shove them in a dark corner in your mind, or forget about them. Pardon my language because I know you don’t like when people use profanities, but there was no way in hell that you could make your feelings for her go away. They were undeniable, unlike anything you have ever felt for a boy before. It was like an epiphany.

It was harder for you to even consider telling other people. What would people think about you? Would they think differently of you or talk behind your back? What would your family think? You love your family, and you didn’t want to mess up your relationship with them by telling them this new information about yourself.

Remember to take a breather. It’s okay to be nervous.

I’ll tell you this, we took it one step at a time.

Turns out, people are pretty accepting, and that’s something to be grateful for, because this isn’t the case for most gay people. You told our little sister first, she barely batted an eye, and you cried in the bathroom after. But, you cried happy tears.

You told two of your cousins next, and turns out one of them also likes girls. The other gave you a fist bump. You went home with a smile on your face.

And then you started to tell your friends, friends who were close to you and who you could trust. They only smiled and said, “Wait, really?” You said yes, you liked girls, and they were like “Me too!”

Finally, you told Mom. She called you over the phone and you cried happy tears because she wasn’t upset with you like you thought she would be. People can surprise you sometimes. She even apologized if she ever said anything insensitive, and said that she loved you regardless. It’s not so scary once you put yourself out there. Yes, not everybody is going to be accepting of you, but I suppose that’s a way to see who your real friends are, and who you can depend on and trust. Because good people will love you no matter who you fall in love with.

If I had to give you any advice, I would tell you to go easy on yourself and to acknowledge your feelings. It’s okay to feel ways that other people don’t and it’s okay to love who you want to love. There is nothing wrong with who you love and how you express love.

I’m sure you’re thinking about what God has to say about us, and honestly we’ll never really know. But, the God I believe in made us the way that we are for a reason, and He has so much love for us because loving who we want doesn’t make us bad people. We were born this way, and there isn’t anything we can do to change the way we are. So no, we’re not going to hell because we want to kiss girls.

But, I’d like to leave you with a good note. Being part of the queer community is a beautiful thing, as silly as it may sound to you. I know you’re going to grow up learning that being gay should not be part of your lifestyle, it’s something that you shouldn’t support, and something you’re going to learn to look down upon as a Christian. But, there’s real beauty in the community and something so liberating about identifying as queer. There’s something so remarkable about queer friendships and relationships that I can’t quite articulate in the form of words.

But yeah, I just wanted you to know that you’ll be okay. I love you, take your time, and you’ll see the light at the end of the tunnel. I love you, little C. Be kind to yourself.

Love, big C.

Once a girl was given a smile
The girl loved her smile
she took it with her everywhere
shared it with everyone who looked her way
she even tucked it in with her at night.
She shared it with her mother when she found her crying
With her friends who stayed at school longer then they should have
The hungry dog she finds in the ally
The scary man who stares at her a bit too long
The cat lady across the street
Her brothers with their broken in shoes
The man on the sidewalk holding a sign
Her Barbies and teddy bears
She loved her smile so much she learned how to smile not with just her Lips but her eyes and voice too.
She smiled with her voice when her father called from “camp” where’d he’d been for some time
She smiled at her bullies when they pushed her down because she knew they didn’t mean it, they were just upset they didn’t have a smile of their own, but that was okay she would just share hers.
She turned her smile into a party trick that she saved for when the room got too loud .
At some point she understood that some people would make the room loud just to see it, but that was okay because it just meant they also didn’t have a smile of their own and she was happy to share.
Soon this young girl becomes a woman and learns that her smile no longer is a gift but a weapon
She uses her smile to defend herself against all the scary things that come her way
When her father never comes home from the hospital
When she learns that alcohol has long term side effects
When the love of her life says it’s not me it’s you
When her test comes back positive
When she gets fired from the high paying job
When no one shows up to her graduation
When she finds out the hero and the nice guy are not always the same person
When she’s referred to as strong and resilient before she understands why
When she doesn’t recognize the crying girl in her reflection
The woman In her starts to think perhaps the smile was never a gift or a weapon or a party trick but a burden that just always felt to heavy to put down
So she tries but her smile remains plastered to her face even when her eyes and voice gave up trying a long time ago .
She tries to set it down only to find
another broken stranger looking for a light,
a light that she knows only her smile can give. So again she shares her crooked smile for no other reason than knowing that a stranger needed a smile and she had one to share.
However this time the stranger smiled back to her she dropped to her knees crying ,
in all the years of sharing her smile this was the first time someone smiled back at her and she was reminded
the gift was never her smile but being someone who was capable of smiling
So the woman rose from her knees and held her head up high and proudly flaunted her smile as she praised the heavens for having a smile to share.

The first thing you should know, Jasmine, is that you are so full of love and light that the waters of your love threaten to drown you in its depths. You spend your days treading the waves constantly, just barely keeping your head above the surface. Ebbing. Flowing. Searching for a vessel to pour yourself into and lighten your load.

You should know that your power lives here. In the billowing floods of tears at the prospect of your greatest fear: abandonment.

It will take a grueling 10 years of isolation for this to change, but it is in this isolation that you’ll excite yourself in other ways, through a discovery of a world that exists beyond the local AMC theatre or the rollerink you’re never invited to.

The shelter you created for yourself out of fictional worlds, boyband lore, and a brief obsession with John Hughes films– is only temporary. The ache to be known and understood will return, as it always does. You will hate this part of yourself, but it will fester and grow nonetheless.

The feeling will persist even once we reach high school and are granted the popularity we craved for so long after the years of rejection. You will succeed in most things, and it will create a new fear in you. A fear of losing it all one day. A fear of disappointing the people you love. A fear of being known as anything besides this new, carefully crafted persona.

You should know that throughout all of this, the universe has been watching you blossom, beaming down at its beautiful flower child as you shed your petals and grew them anew season after season.

One day you’ll call out to the universe for a lesson to help you understand why the fear won’t go away.

And in answer, the universe sent us a man so beautiful and broken it knew we would never be able to resist the call to action. The urge to lick his wounds and patch his ego back together so that he could be the man we dreamed of. We poured ourselves into him and over him to be his champion in the war he’d waged against himself. We stepped out from behind our crooked shield, swimming head to toe in oversized rusted armor and brandished the all too heavy sword of our love upwards at the heavens to prove ourselves.

Because our devotion to the sick, the weak, the needy, has always overshadowed our devotion to ourselves. As if our worth couldn’t exist alone. Because we believed that deep down, the secret to a perfect world, was that everyone should simply exist in service of those who need it most. And the universe, all knowing as it is, knew that the only way I’d give up this belief in self sacrifice was if it taught me what the best and the worst of humanity can look like in the lesson that was Him.

There was a time where He would have destroyed us. Where we would have been so desperate for Him to see the pain He’d inflicted that we would have abandoned our self image in pursuit of revenge. Painted our face until we no longer hated the watery eyes staring back at us in the mirror. Starved ourselves skinny and stripped ourselves bare to expose this stranger’s body to the men we’d never risk exposing our heart to again. We’d reign terror and spit venom until the memory of Him came creeping back in. Then we’d crawl back to him on bruised knees and beg for salvation.

But, luckily, this was not the first time the Universe has tried to teach us this particular lesson. We failed the first time, to choose ourselves. Because you are me and I am you and I was so desperate to protect you from my loneliness, I looked the devil in his eyes and pleaded with him, as his hands tightened around my neck until my vision dulled, to love me. Please love me.

We were strong this time, Jasmine. We turned to the sky and asked the stars what to do about Him and they answered us, as they always do. The wind came down and dried our tears and whistled in our ear to simply let go and trust in them. And we did.

And despite it all we still love in spite of the love we never felt. We smile at strangers, and text people photos of rainbows we see outside, and tell the people we love that we love them every single time we feel it. There are still trials and tribulations and tears and sorrow. But when I talk to the universe, it talks back to me. And we will never be alone again.

A Girl with a Watering Can by Pierre-Auguste Renoir is the most vivid of my childhood memories. Mounted on the living room wall, I would lie on the floor and stare intently at the blond-haired, blue-eyed girl attired in my favorite hue and transport myself to that ethereal garden. I longed to be standing amid the colors of our creator, engaging in the tranquil scene where life seemed simple. A watering can and flowers, listening to the birds sing where monsters didn’t roam.  
The delicate balance of staying present but sending my thoughts to wander where I’m not that little girl whose innocence was lost.  I belonged there, standing with confidence that I was protected from seeing the world with ghosts that forever linger in my memories.  The scene calmed my desire to disappear as a teen when I opened the door and welcomed yet another attack on my young body.  If I closed my eyes tight enough, I could smell the fresh scent of spring and breathe out the marred reflection of my battered soul.  
Were the angels crying when they saw the destruction of my once fearless spirit?  My heart drops when my mind retraces the hours spent secluded in unwanted noise.  The endless nightmares that interrupt my slumber and consume the midnight hours with fear, the flashbacks and panic that attack without warning. 
One moment can alter the trajectory of one’s destination in life.  For me, this moment lifted the fog I had been existing in for more than three decades. The veil came off. One person’s presence in my life, though they may not have realized it, was a turning point that awakened me to my value and deservingness of a more fulfilling existence.  My angel on earth who reminded me of my worth. Conversation without judgment, presence without pretense, and love without condition became the key that had been lost and could now open the lock to restore what had been hidden.  The revelations that came with that were eye-opening. The beginning of everything that was buried. Years of collecting dust brought me to this uncomfortable yet necessary pivotal moment in my life. 
The murmurs of the pale blue corolla, only outdone by the fragrance of the perfume scenting my space bring me back to childhood days where time spent outdoors felt carefree and unburdened. The pretty blooms greeted me as I headed outside to spend the day. Though the blooms only last a short while, the timing is magnificent. A tender beginning into longer days, brilliant sunshine, and joyous memories. Beauty enters at a time when everything else has yet to shine. The hope that all would be right in time.
Hope. Peace. Joy. Love. These are the words I want to live. I want to remove the words that bring no purpose. Discard any that brings pain and grief. Concentrate on one at a time but knowing that one will lead to two and so on.
However, before I could get there, I had to heal myself. I must love myself and I’m not sure if I ever had. I always thought that I did but it’s become obvious that if it had once been true, it ceased to be at some point along the way. Maybe it was a little at a time and I just took no notice. It’s possible I never quite knew how to love myself and thinking that it was selfish of me to do that. I’ve always felt guilt where guilt didn’t belong. I couldn’t see how loving yourself manifests into a better life not only for me but also allows healthy and safe relationships for those who enter our lives along the way. I was always great at taking care of my body, but I lacked in the area of my head and my heart. I never felt I had earned it. The hard part was believing I deserved it and holding fast to that commitment. Maybe it needs to be read: Love. Hope. Peace. Joy. Love. The first love is for me and then the healing is followed by the rest.
It’s in our nature to take pictures of only the good times to reminisce about.  Those moments of our lives that were captured on film, the celebrations, the birth of children, family get-togethers.  Mostly happy, joyous occasions that showed those in attendance with brilliant smiles or immersed in laughter that more often than not included a few tears from the sidesplitting cachinnations.  Brief seconds where expressions of love or contentment were captured to look back and hold onto that feeling.  I found very few solemn times captured that would dampen our moods.  I did find a few though.  A smile was missing or there were tears in my eyes.  If only I could go back and hug that girl and tell her she is loved.  
The hesitation to love my body completely has always been greater than the acceptance. To truly appreciate what God has given me. I had only seen the imperfections, the scars. Those on the surface and others hidden inside. This body, the one that holds the best parts of me, my mind, heart, and soul is worthy of praise. It’s traveled with me on quite a journey and deserves respect and admiration. The thought has crossed my mind that I’ve never realized the magnitude of all it has done for me.
The vault that holds my memories, the enchanting moments sprinkled throughout the years. The key to opening all that is my imagination and the sparks that have taken flight from it. The wounds that have been mended, though many carry the secrets better left unsaid. The ability to heal and endure is magical on its own. The miracles of life that were created and brought into this life are joyous accomplishments. The arms that cradled the tiny beings to the breasts that nourished their bodies are elements of love and nurture. They were conceived and survived within this flesh. To be in awe of the wonder of motherhood. The strength to continue each day no matter what obstacles are placed in its path.
This canvas of flesh has persevered and shown unyielding resolve with each confrontation or denial of self-love. This impermanent model God felt worthy enough to mold is incredible. A symbol of bravery, strength, and beauty deserving of garnering unwavering attention and affection. The time has come to cast the shadows aside and nurture my mind, speak kindly to my heart, and whisper to my soul that I am worth every beautiful opportunity and acknowledgment I am given. I am still here breathing and healing. I was never broken. I just needed to bloom.
 I sit and watch the sunrise on a beautiful day.  It’s spectacular. Seasons change as life does. The cool crisp air awakens my senses and fills my lungs with the scent of renewal.  I find solace in nature’s cyclical rhythm.  The leaves, like memories, rustle, and fall, making way for the promise of spring.  Today’s beauty is eternal, unfettered by the limitations of human life. The sun’s warm touch ignites a sense of gratitude within me.  Each breath is a gift.  Each moment is a treasure.  The seasons have taught me to cherish each moment.  To find beauty in decay and rebirth.  In this fleeting dawn, I feel alive.  The world awakens, vibrant and pulsing.  
 Birds sing their morning hymns, as God’s creatures begin to stir.  I seek simplicity, a sunrise, a breeze, a loved one’s touch.  Life’s complexities fall away, leaving only room for love.  As Autumn’s palette paints the sky, I am reminded:  that every ending marks a new beginning. And in this acceptance, I find peace.  Time, once a linear path, now unfolds like a lotus.  Petals of memory unfurl, releasing the fragrance of the possibility of a better future. Today’s radiance assures me every moment is a masterpiece.

Dear Teenage Me,

Greetings from the future! I would ask, “how’s it going?”, but I already know: life is kind of overwhelming for you right now. Your family recently moved to a new country and here you are, still trying to gain your bearings and fit in at your new school all while your body and mind are experiencing so many changes. There is so much that frustrates you in general and perhaps the most frustrating thing that hits closest to home is your one and only younger sister. I know, I know, you’re probably wondering, “why are we focusing on her in a letter for me?” Please bear with me and hear me out.

People have been comparing the two of you for as long as you can remember. Maybe it’s because you only have an 18-month age gap between you and how much other people think you look like. Either way, the similarities haven’t changed how differently people treat you. As the older sister, you’re the role model. You’re the responsible one. So when anything goes wrong, it always comes back to your behavior (or lack thereof) in some way. That’s been true since childhood. After all, was it proper for you to go play when your sister had homework and would be distracted by your actions? Was it proper for you to have a dirty room if it meant being a bad example for her? If she was too loud, was it proper for you to leave her to her own devices instead of telling her to take it down a notch (or ten)? The answer, of course, was always no. The expectations for you weren’t always spoken but they were clear: you had to know better and it was your job to look after your sister.

I know the expectations are even higher now. You understand that your behavior makes a statement about how your parents raised you. You revel in the praise of getting good grades, conforming to the rules, and making your community proud. You understand social cues and adjust your behavior accordingly. Meanwhile, your sister struggles in school and gets into trouble. You see how people stare and laugh at her, not with her. Your parents hear about it from her teachers, and their response is always the same: “talk to your sister”. While you want to help, you also wish you didn’t have to. You wish she could just…figure things out and not attract so much negative attention. You wish she would take responsibility and self-adjust, as you do, instead of making more trouble for herself and for you by extension.

There is a strong feeling of bitterness that often rises in your chest these days that you don’t have a word for yet. The word is “resentment”, and you feel it in spades. It’s the reason why there is so much anger in your voice whenever you talk to her. It’s the reason why there are hidden and not-so-hidden jabs in the way you speak about her. It’s also the reason why you don’t see how much she is struggling too. How she struggles to figure out whether people want to be their friend or their entertainment. How she also feels the weight of others’ expectations, except unlike you, she knows that she doesn’t meet them. While your resentment highlights her flaws, it allows you to forget her incredible sense of humor or the fact that she is one of the kindest people you know, despite the bullying she experiences. Your resentment makes you so focused on your own confusion and pain that you can’t see her own.

And when you do figure this out years later and remember the screaming matches, the tears, the mean words, the first thing you’re going to feel is shame. Shame for not being the sister she needed and not being able to take those words back. But wait, there’s hope! I write to you from a time when you and your sister are a strong unit. You laugh and cry together. You apologize better when you upset each other. You now poke gentle fun at your differences and are still fiercely protective of each other. Eventually, you’ll start to forgive yourself for what you didn’t know and what you could have done better. You’ll start learning from her how to be yourself more and contort yourself less. And when your sister encourages you to write, you will roll your eyes good-naturedly and move onto other things without realizing that she has planted one of the many seeds that need to sprout before you’re ready to take that leap.

What is a body if not a safe space?
How come within my skin I faced
Uncomfortableness from friend and foe the same.
I look back on it now and laugh at the shame.
Brought upon me by those
With old school Christian ways.
“Boys will be boys,” they said when I complained.
About how they gripped at my chest
My thighs, My bra straps, My thick mane.
It all felt so hopeless then.
It felt like I couldn’t win.
Against a system, a culture, a people
That had deemed my body public property.
When my mother found out she set me straight promptly.
That I should not encourage trouble upon me
And to not make myself enticing to draw in unwanted company.
In the halls of my Southern elite high school
I rotted away knowing there was nothing I could do.
That was until me too
When I saw people cared to not let boys do what they want to do
To stand up for bodily autonomy no matter the obstacles I had to go through
Guns, knives and defense classes caused clashes
with family and boyfriends alike
But we persevered
We fought to be not only protected but also feared
I am proud to say we have incited tears from abusers’ eyes
As they kiss their families goodbye
After I used ICE to cool my rage
And send them packing from a cage
To their country of origin.
We did not let our religious start to life
Hinder us from doing what’s right.
Silence begets silence
Passiveness begets passiveness
In it grows rot that must be dug out and purged.
We have found our voice and the strength to not let it be silenced.

Dear (younger) Alex,

Recently, your parents uprooted your life in Rochester, Minnesota and moved to start a new chapter in Fairfax County Virginia. You just started the 4th grade at Sangster Elementary School and already, your classmates treat Jamestown like it is Disneyland, ride real horses, and have perfect cursive penmanship. Obviously, Virginia has a hard time letting go of the colonial times and takes higher education extremely seriously. But, besides Virginia being oddly proud of it’s past, I know being the new kid in school is hard. Getting teased over your midwestern accent is one thing, but the truth is, I know you don’t want anyone knowing about your secret.

A few months prior to moving, you found out you have dyslexia. Dyslexia sounds pretty bad considering you don’t even know where to begin on how to spell it. Dyslexia is something where there is no cure and there are no pills that will help. Instead, you just have it.

Now, if circumstance couldn’t get any worse, you are now stuck in a classroom full of ivy ledge go-getters. Yet here you are, already behind and fearing you will fail out of school for thinking you are not smart enough due to your learning disability. At this point, you assume your best solution is to morph into a shadow, to not talk since you already sound foreign, and constantly dread that everyone is going to find out. Especially when the teacher decides to go on an intense humiliation picking spree and will randomly select some poor soul to read out loud. Of course, there will be some students who will want to show off their college level reading skills but, the teacher loves to pick on someone who hasn’t had a turn. Unfortunately, repeating quietly to yourself, “Don’t pick me” magically manifests into being chosen.

Now as the future you, I could lie and say no one finds out and you will never get teased. Instead, I am here to be honest with you and deliver the good and bad news.

First, the bad news:

The fear of randomly being called to read out loud is forever going to be scary, even to this day. The continuous teasing never ends, people will question your intelligence and ask you why you take so long to finish tests. I can also guarantee that someone in the room will always correct the way you mispronounced a word. There will be many late nights making flash cards, rereading chapters, and triple checking your answers on tests to make sure you read the question correctly. It will be increasing frustrating to hear people say they don’t need to study since it’s so easy. When for us, it’s not so simple.

Now for the good news:

I understand the determination to be normal is what truly drives you. But, the older you get, the more you will realize that we are never going to be like everyone else. We simply cannot be and that is because we are not suppose to be. All the hard work you put in trying to be normal actually turns into grit.

Instead of seeing dyslexia as a burden – dyslexia is a hilarious gift because what isn’t funny about saying, “Can I have some antelope?” When you ment to say cantaloup. Eventually, the fear of being wrong doesn’t worry you anymore because we are so use to not being right. Besides, your entire intelligence isn’t based on a multiple choice test. So instead of hiding, we started embracing learning, asking questions and studying because having unique ideas and being naturally curious is what opens doors for you.

So although we are not perfect I promise you one thing for sure: you will never fail. Matter a fact, you will just continue to grow and eventually learn how to really fly.

Dear Taleena,
Opportunities will come before you, accept the challenge instead of avoiding a collision. Let ambition flow through your veins with every step. In elementary school, you will have an assignment where you will choose a business venture. Your creative mind will choose to be a banner designer where you will create advertisements for the local classroom businesses. Having a rapport with your fellow classmates will allow you to become the most successful business with recurrence. Your reasonable prices will be relatable as these businesses are just starting up and they need advertisements for their goods and services. Constant smiles and banter will catch the attention of shoppers. Personalize the banners for them to sparkle and shine in the elements of laughter, chaos and townsfolk activities. Maintain this enthusiasm through all of your encounters and don’t let any opportunities pass you by. Build an enterprise and pass through the generations that hard work and dedication will lead you to the destination you deserve and desire.
Sincerely,
The one who endured through the chaos and turmoil to create a path for success and independence.

To my young soul-

You didn’t know why-
You had a compulsion to lie.
You were born to sow chaos,
Then to watch from the side lines.

You didn’t know why-
You sat and read in the trees for hours…
Why you loved no one’s company,
As much as the magnolia flowers.

You didn’t know why-
You never felt like enough.

You didn’t know why-
You had a desire to bleed.
You didn’t know why-
Pain felt like a need.

You didn’t know why-
You were up all night.
Despite a handful of Tylenol P.M-
No fatigued mind in sight.

You didn’t know why-
All you could do to speak was to write.

You didn’t know why-
You were full of love and disdain.
You didn’t know why-
You just had to paint.

You didn’t know why-
Why you always dyed your hair,
Why you cried in the corner-
Why you threw that chair.

You didn’t know why-
You felt no love or care.
You were so out of control.
Unaware of what festered in your soul.

You didn’t know why-
You were the only human alive.
You didn’t know why-
You were born with a desire to die.

You didn’t know, why you didn’t need sleep-
You didn’t understand your dreams,
About being six feet deep.
You didn’t.

You didn’t know if you had an idea-
Or a disillusioned psychosis.
You didn’t understand you were still you,
If you accepted the diagnosis.

You didn’t know how to be-
You didn’t know why
Until finally you listened to the DSM 5.
You didn’t know how to not be defined.

You didn’t know about manic depression,
You didn’t know why you felt such desperation.
You didn’t know why- you didn’t know.
A bitter pill to swallow.

Now you know.
Yet you can’t leave it behind,
With a diagnosis you must make room,
Now you know.

Your mood is a disorder,
Yet it’s all you’ve ever known.
So swallow that pill in the hopes-
One day you may not need it anymore.

You’re perfectly whole,
Yet now you know.
Escaping not unscathed; only wiser.
You’re young and you’re old.

Now you know.
You’re my shoulder to lean on,
As the world is cruel.
Now you know, I didn’t know you.

It’s okay to hate her
To hate them both
Death will not excuse bad parenting
But one day I promise you
The shards of their broken promises
The Bricks of grief that hold you back
And drown you in fear
Are what build the foundation of your forever
So again yes
It’s okay to hate her
To hate them both because one day
I promise you’ll learn to let go

Dear Deaja,
How cool is it reading a letter from your future self? You’re probably in our room at grandma’s house with your headphones on blasting old school rap music so you can put off doing homework. I know there are over a million questions racing through your tiny child’s mind, bad new we never grow wings. Seriously though, in our life we get to do things and see things we never even dreamed we would but at this point I know your mind is only focused on something no kids this young should ever have to be worried about. I understand this is something you don’t ever want to hear but the sooner you hear it the better your mental health will be. Firstly, none of this is your fault. You have to remember who is that parent and who is the child. You have done everything you know how to do since you were seven years old, and the fact is when someone refused to change even after you constantly tell them how they hurt you, then you have to realize that they don’t value their relationship as much as you do. You’re a thirteen-year-old high school student and if that wasn’t hard enough on you, you just found out from one of your classmates that your mom moved away from you, and she also took your brother and sister without saying a word to you. By now you’re on day five of trying to call her and getting no response. I’m sorry to say she won’t answer the phone for you, in fact, at some point she will even change her number altogether.
Secondly, nothing is wrong with you. Grandma is going to tell you to keep calling her once a week like clockwork and not to stop no matter how many more times she sees you break down. I want you to know its ok to be sick of being hurt by the same person. I know how much it hurts you to see all the other kids around have their mothers in their lives and while your dad and grandma struggle to cover it up with you with toys and fun and whatever else, it’s just not the same. That haunting feeling like something in your life is missing, that there’s a piece of your heart you can’t seem to find it and it feels as if you never will. I promise that feeling won’t be there forever, you can and will find your way to fill that hole with things that bring you peace. Despite what the world and some of the people around you will say, no one has the right to keep hurting you. The simple fact is that even after having children, life will never be like the kind of parents we see on the tv shows, the world just doesn’t work that way and there are people in the world who are too selfish to put other, including their own children, before themselves. Between you and your mother, you are the child in this matter not the adult. The responsibility of taking the first step to mend fences should not always be on you. Lastly, it’s ok to be the villain in someone else’s story. While your mother will keep trying to charm you with promises of doing better, wanting to get to know you and doing better from then on, it’s all a lie. Someone who really cares about you will never keep letting you down. They will not repeatedly cancel on you at the last minute, leave you high and dry without a phone call for weeks, months and years at a time, nor will they try to make you out to be the problem every single time.