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.

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.