Hi you,
Tomorrow will be the year where you will be turning thirty. I thought of many things. Mostly led by fears. The rest is a fixation upon what’s happened, how terrible the past year’s been. For instance, earlier this afternoon, I tried to find an entry I wrote exactly last year today on my old journal. There was none. The last entry I had in 2020 was on 13th and 27th December. And what’s written there made me fucking cry. Not the sad, self-pity kind, but the kind where all of the sudden your heart is filled with empathy attack like “I’m so sorry you felt this horrible” and “oh my god, I wish I could hug you.”
That girl in 2020 had gone through so much of pain and waves of emotions she didn’t understand, which unraveled more and more throughout the year 2021. And even through messy handwriting, I could tell she was hurting like never before. Then after 10 pieces of tissues full of snot later, I’m here. Writing this. I’ve decided unlike the previous years of my annual review, this time I’m going to give something that I was unable to give myself a year ago. No review of what could’ve been better or what’s the kind of success I’m looking for in the new year but just a long warm hug. You deserve this more than ever.
2021’s been the toughest year yet and I’m glad you made it. Your favourite part of the year is that you’re able to show up today. I know you’re exhausted. You can rest for a while now. Put your feet up and make yourself a cup of tea. You’re okay. Not particularly happy, or sad, and it’s pretty damn good. You are right here, breathing, trying, typing, hoping. Look how far you’ve come!
I’m glad you’ve set a time to cry every week in the past year has helped you process your feelings. I’m glad you’re learning not to resist the shameful thoughts anymore. I’m glad you asked for help from your close friends that night when you knew you couldn’t take it anymore. I’m glad you tried not to be afraid of being vulnerable in front of them — even the ugly crying kind. I’m glad you’re continuously trying to let go of everything that you need to let go of (I know it must be goddamn hard).
I’m glad you can still find that tiny sense of belonging in between weekdays’ hangout at your brother’s office or when you’re reading a book alone at the coffee shop close to your home. I’m glad you can still find solace in the songs you listened to while looking out of the window. I’m glad you picked up your guitar again and learned two new songs and mastered another two, which you have been learning half-assed before.
I’m glad you’re trying your best not to put yourself in an impossible standard without even listening to what you need. I’m glad even when you wish the world to swallow you whole, you’re still trying to be here.
Have I told you I’m glad you’re here? Oh boy, I’m nearly tearing up writing this. I’m not sure it’s the writing or just Bon Iver, nevertheless, I’m proud of you. You will be okay. I’m glad to meet who you are today and I cannot wait to meet you next year. I’m sure the older version of you will be even more proud of this, too.
Still rooting for you.
Yours truly,
A.
