A Letter To My Younger Self

Sophia Trejo

Ambar Carolina Cruz once sang

“Ya no quiero que llores,”

I don’t want you to cry anymore, “The universe is gonna give you muchas flores,” The universe is gonna give you a lot of flowers. I feel as though that’s all that I’ve been doing these past couple of weeks.

I knew that all those years of suppressed emotions were going to float to the surface one way or another. I just didn’t expect it to come in the form of typed-out letters on my computer screen, having to stop every now and then to look up at the ceiling to blink away my blurry vision. As I wrote, I hoped and prayed that no one would walk into my room to see my pink nose and glossy eyes and further question me if I was fine even though I said I was. I wish I can tell my younger self to be more open about her emotions, to talk to her loved ones about what’s been on her mind in hopes to avoid any pain she’ll have to endure in her future. See, I’ve come to realize that the prickling, pinching of pain is necessary to live, forgive, and love again. Anxiety brings me closer to God as it reminds me what a fragile, little human I am.

The tug on my heartstrings reminds me to never forget my Nie and that grief has no expiration date. Discomforting situations remind me of how important it is to stick to the ones I love. I don’t think the Lord no quiera que llore nunca más, for me to not cry ever again, but He does tell me that He will comfort me under His gracious wing when the uncontrollable emotions decide to take the wheel once again.

So, dear Younger Self, you can share your feelings, cry it out—do whatever you think will make you feel better instead of locking it away in your heart and throwing the key over your shoulder. Suppressing your emotions are not going to make them go away or cancel out the future ones.

Quítate ese miedo, take away that fear of being open and remind yourself that you’re doing great, that you’re trying your best because that’s all I can ever ask of you.

Ashes

Julie Eyerman

we are all drawn to fond memories like children’s hands to hot stoves. we wish to remember. we want to feel warm again but we risk getting burned when we reminisce.

don’t get too close.

I lit the candle I burned when you came over for the first time again yesterday. it’s the first time I’ve burned it since you left. bittersweet notes of rose fill the air and I’m taken back to that day.

I wish you didn’t ruin roses for me.

the one you gave me was almost my favorite color, too. a lucky guess. I burned that rose with the candle. to think I kept it this long just for you to burn me… we all return to ashes, eventually, don’t we?

Audrey Hepburn

Jaden Massaro

When she told me her namesake, I thought, “That’s a lot to live up to.”

To a twinkling eye-catcher, a breezy breath-catcher a shooting star-striking beauty sleepwalking dreamcatcher. She slapped me once when she caught me tormenting my own sensibilities.

That’s a lot to live up to.

To a polished gemstone on a foundation of stone, a twenty-four-carat high voltage lightning bug in a bottle. She held me once when she found me ravaging my own memories. That’s a lot to live up to. She told me once that she wants to be at my wedding I don’t know when or who or even if ever.

But I wrote her invitation yesterday. When she told me her namesake, I thought, “That’s a lot to live up to.”

I feel sorry for Audrey Hepburn.