Dear 11-year-old Me,
Remember when you used to write letters to future you? You would take bits of construction paper and write notes and draw pictures and then seal them in an envelope labeled “Don’t open until you're 10,” or “Open in 2009.” You would hide them in the back of the closet, hoping to forget about them. Hoping that you'd find them and it would be a surprise.
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This is like that, only reversed.
Hi, it’s future you! I am 21, I am going to graduate from college in a few months. (Yes, you got into college, and yes, you"re doing well. Crazy, I know.)
I have a few pieces of advice, though. I hope you don’t mind.
Don’t listen to your friends. You won’t straighten your hair every day in high school. No one’s got time for that. Anyways, our curls are like mom’s, and like our aunt’s and our brother's. Why would you want to give that up for a passing trend? Everyone’s going to be trying to look like you in 10 years (trust me, I know). On that note, you are beautiful. No ifs, ands or buts. Don’t worry about it so much. And wear sunscreen. Like, every day. Yes, you need it. Yes, I’m sure.
Hug Mom and Dad. Yes, even in front of other people. They are your champions; they fight for you even when you don’t realize it -- especially when you don’t realize it.
Be nicer to Gabe. You only have one little brother and he’s great when you give him the chance. Watch old Disney movies and X-men cartoons with him. Cook together and talk about Marvel vs. DC. (He’s wrong, but it’s still fun to argue.) You are not too cool for him -- if anything, he is too cool for you.
Speak up in class. Stupids not cute -- never was and never will be. Don’t feel guilty for raising your hand. No guy ever does. If you have something to say, say it; just don’t be a smart ass (don’t worry; even I have yet to figure out this particular conundrum).
Study. You're smart, but put the work in. It’s easy to say “I’m not good at this,” but it's a hell of a lot harder to say “I’m not good at this, but I’m going to work at it until I am.”
Not all friendships are meant to last forever, and that’s OK. Friendship “break-ups” sometimes hurt a lot more than the romantic ones. In the end, you will surround yourself with people who you make happy and who make you happy.
Sometimes it will be really hard to be a citizen of the world. You're different -- not in the special snowflake way, but in the way that people will want to hurt you just for being you. It’s not fair and it’s not right, but it’s the way things are. The worst instinct you will ever have is to be as mean as you think the world is. Do you need strength? Compassion builds you up when people want to tear you down. Empathy will take you farther than pettiness and casual cruelties ever will.
I know that feeling in the pit of your stomach: Terrified that you are looking too long at girls. The ways you have talked your way out of “it,” around “it” -- so much internal chatter when you can’t even voice what “it” is. I know you want a boyfriend, or even a crush, or someone who could be a crush. I know you have been coming up with fake names since third grade to cover up the fact that you don’t get what your friends are talking about. You don’t find your male classmates “cute.” You don’t find the boys in your class particularly interesting at all. I know you feel uncomfortable in your own skin sometimes. Or all the time. There is nothing wrong with who you are. You are not broken. You are not damaged goods.
I know you don’t know how to be you, yet. I know you're trying to construct an identity in the dark. There's no one who's like you that you can see. You know “gay” as a caricature, a butt of a joke, something that will only make things hard for you, make people hate or not love you enough. You think that if that “it” you're scared of is true, that you can’t be the rest of yourself: A person of faith, feminine, a good friend and daughter. You live in a world that wants to make you small, that wants to carve out your identity for you, but they don’t get to decide who you are. You can be gay and girly and Catholic and a good friend and daughter -- in fact, you will be a better friend and daughter when you're honest with them and yourself.
Who you love will never be your detriment. Love is what builds us; it is what makes us; it is the good; it's the humanity. You feel like you're broken, but you’re not. You will have all the things you think you're not built for. First love and heartbreaks, dates and slow dances, first kisses that stick your feet to the floor and make you feel dazed for days after. You will go on adventures and have amazing stories to tell. No minor humiliation or sly remark will ever derail your life.
It will be OK. I promise.
Memory is funny. I don’t have any artifacts. I wish that you loved diaries and wrote everything down. I remember that you had bursts of inspiration and would write pages and pages and then abandon it for months on end. I wish I had those journals, those bursts of thoughts that you had, but like so many things, they got lost.
We have the same gap in our teeth. Same curl in our hair. Same color in our eyes. But you cry easier than I do and you are sweeter than I am. My hair is darker and my skin paler. We are not the same person. That’s OK, though. It means that I have grown up.
I still remember you, though, and I don’t want to forget you.
I remember you reading on the ground in front of your bed for hours on end, desperately wanting to leave your world and go somewhere different. I remember you crying on the floor in the girls bathroom; I remember the moment you stopped crying and stared and the ceiling, filled with a furious anger, feeling too old for your age. I remember your dreams of who you would be someday: Someone brave, who went into the world unafraid or at least went into the world at all. I hope that I don’t disappoint.
I remember you, even if no one really got to know you: 11, struggling, hoping, and way too good at lying. I remember you and I love you.
From,
Your friend, Isabelle (aka 21-year-old You)
P.S. What was your favorite song? I would give anything to remember.
P.S.S. You’ll be OK -- I know I already said that, but it bares repeating. You. Will. Be. OK.
