Pontificating by myself on a slow, leisurely train ride downtown, I thought about how much I have changed over the years. I reflected on a time capsule I had made in grammar school, and was trying and failing to remember what I had written in the letter to myself. Unfortunately, I still have another five years or so until I can open it. I wondered what I expected for myself. What my aspirations were. I’m a junior in college now, and I made the time capsule at the end of eighth grade.

What a difference five years have made.

In grammar school, I was a shy, over-sensitive girl with long, dark, straight hair and the worst possible fashion sense. I was overtly religions, sensible, and moral. I was cautious to the point of ignorance, and hopelessly naïve in a whitewashed Catholic school. The lack of diversity was lost on my sheltered existence. I never wore makeup, never swore, and avoided saying even slightly offensive words, like “hate.” I was never crude, and only used the internet to look up things for class or to play games online.

I didn’t have social media of any kind.

It’s a miracle to me how I had friends at all, but I’m glad all the same.

I wasn’t allowed to date, but I had virtually no feelings for boys. I never even thought about sex. I was prim and proper, but hopelessly isolated from the real world. I didn’t have much responsibility, and my problems never rose to anything bigger than a low grade or a paper cut. I was always accompanied by my parents to outings, and was rarely left alone, despite my age. I didn’t really want to be. I was scared and unsure of myself.

My beliefs were what I was taught by my Republican parents, school, and church. I would hum church music instead of the ubiquitous pop songs of the day, and the shows I watched were dubbed and censored. I was disallowed from watching certain shows; anything that was lewd in nature or had bad words was out: Family Guy was strictly forbidden.

I think my over-buttoned, conservative 12-year-old self would faint if she could see me now.

Thankfully, I have outgrown my bigoted shell. I am a successful college student who excels in her studies. I am currently completing my Associate’s Degree in Graphic Design, and take the train downtown every day. I have a driver’s license, and often go gallivanting around the city on days off. (At 12, I would barely go a block on my bike alone). I am religious still, but have realized that acceptance is the best answer. I have friends who are extremely liberal and tout beliefs that would make my parents shriek, and I love them for who they are. I have gay friends, friends who are into witchcraft, and friends who don’t believe in any religion at all. Additionally, my views on controversial subjects have grown and changed. I understand the world better, and fight for the rights of my peers.

I swear now, quite liberally, to be honest. Those expletives fly trippingly off my tongue whenever I’m particularly bothered. And I don’t go a day without a lascivious meme or a view at some particularly raunchy fan fiction.

I don’t hate companionship anymore. I have an interest in romance as well as physical pleasure.

I wear makeup, every day in fact. My former self might think me a prostitute, but I actually wear far less than my peers.

When I’m in the car, I rap along to the hits on the radio, blasted loud and unruly, songs that my father hates.

I accept responsibility. I have two jobs, a full time enrollment in school, a full tuition scholarship, a map grant, and another outside scholarship, and am currently looking at internships or another form of employment. I drive there, alone.

I have secrets, too. Not everything is shared with my parents. I have friends they don’t know about, and they aren’t as on top of me about my grades or assignments. Those are my own business.

I even have a secret email account.

My friends are different. I am more casual about relationships, and know that people come and go. I’m grateful for the friends that have stuck with me, and I meet new people all the time. I’m no longer as shy about talking or expressing myself.

My fashion has changed, too. (Thank the lord.) No longer am I graced with the unflattering walking shorts of the early 2000s, nor do I insist on wearing all the colorful jewelry I own in one day. I opt for clean, neutral staples. White shirts, jeans, some shiny loafers. I even have a tie. For more casual days, a sweater or tee and simple gold jewelry. And a rather riotous gold ear cuff (fake, though).

I’ve considered tattoos, though my parents despise them. I haven’t made a decision on that yet.

As a rite of passage, I chopped off my hair into a bob and experimentally dyed it a scandalous red.

It’s faded now, and grown a bit, but I still feel much different.

I’m glad.

Despite my aforementioned statements, I have a good relationship with my parents. I love them, and they love me, and who I’ve become. They accept those changes, and probably have gone through the same ones as adolescents themselves.

All these changes have made me feel like an entirely different person. That might be just a part of growing up, but I feel like a new version of me.

A better version.

Although, there is one change I’m still a bit wary of.

Despite my sworn eternal hatred of him ever since I was twelve, I shamefacedly admit that Justin Bieber is now a part of my playlist.

Sometimes, we don’t change for the better after all.