A letter to 17 year old me.
Hi, Andrea, or now you everybody calls you Monique. By now, I mean back
then. It’s three years later, a whole 36 months of numbing cuts, moments,
pivotal instants in the cardiac arrest that will be your life. If I had gotten
a chance to live all that I did knowing at least half of what I know now, maybe
I wouldn’t have cried myself to sleep for so many nights. With these words I
hope you feel as I softly caress you to sleep all those tears. First thing I
should say? It’s okay. You’re okay. Everything turns out to be okay. Since
then, you have learned that love is complicated, erratic, and not black and
white at all. In reality, you learned that life in particular happens very much
in the gray areas. You experienced freedom, crushing heartbreaks; you mourned
somebody close to you. Emotions took you on a roller coaster on which to be
very honest, you weren’t mostly in control of. Casualties, life, your parents,
your friends, neighbors, and every point of conversation in life you’ve crossed
were also a part of this. You are so brave. You crossed oceans for love, gave
your last pennies away to anybody who needed it more than you, gave yourself
but also did a pretty damn good job at standing up every time you fell. No, you
are not in Harvard, or any Ivy League for that matter, but you’ll learn that
there’s some bullshit you shouldn’t sacrifice to be a part of the in crowd.
You’re already it. Pursuing your profession will be hard, and you’ll doubt it,
but don’t give up. The multi-layered discrimination this broken society has
attributed to your labels, have nothing to do with your capability to do what you
love. You’ve finally understood why you feel, see, hear, and taste the world
all at once. You made our dreams come true… You’ve sung in front of
crowds, you’ve made it to ISEF. You did it for you and your mom. You’ve let
friends go, not because they were never your friends, but because you’re
different people now. We’ve, you’ve, I guess I’ve molted. Like the tears that I
know you hold back, you need to learn to let go. Everything will be all right,
hugs are the cure for most of the pain that you feel, don’t underestimate the
power of intended skin interactions. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to
foreshadow thru words all I could think about to make it easier for you, life
writes itself. You’ll catch on, instant after instant of accidents, choices,
curves and dead ends, that there isn’t a dead end until we’re dead.
This is your life it won’t stop. We’ve gotten better at acknowledging
that all we can do is stop and glance every now and then.
Andrea
