I suddenly fly to 20 years ago, to my 11 years old self. She bore the wound we haven’t realized yet. She was only 11 years old but she knew how to cope with herself. She wrote many things she didn’t share to anyone. She didn’t have anyone to listen to her. She only lived her life. She had family, but not that warm family one always desired.
Oh I wish I understand it early, what my younger self tried to tell me. Growing older, we forgot how we liked it to write everything from our daily life to words only we understood. I slowly went away from her, I shifted to reading fictions where I could daydream. I left my younger self with her lively writings, only to indulge with teenager and young adult life. I invented myself to be a people pleaser where I found joy by pleasing people, never to put myself first. One skill that I have fully developed since I can remember. To be a good daughter and older sister.
Later on, I busied myself. I loved when I was busy doing things, not for myself but for others. I liked it being liked. I thrived for being the best, the influencing one around my peers. I always believed that I was the right one. To hurt people that really cared about me, I didn’t realize until they left, until now. It was my 20’s years old self. Where my dreams were bigger than anything. To chase it, I said to myself it’s your dream. But then it maybe not my dream, it’s just someone else’s dream that an escape for me.
I then saw myself doing mistakes, tried to deny it, to hide it. Yes, my biggest mistake was to think I was always right. I made things hard for anyone thought I was wrong. I wanted to blame someone, something. But, now it made sense. I was taught to never be wrong, to never be a bad daughter, to follow the norms that society made, to dismiss my own feeling and desires. That is only to make my parents proud, parents who were too busy to put food on the table, to check on my feelings.
I always believe my parents had their best intention towards me and my siblings. I know that what they did, they thought it’s the best at that moment (or even now). It’s just kind of hard to ask them, to let them know that they hurt us –they are human that also could do wrong. I, who was bound in social norms, didn’t have a heart to fully tell them how the past created my now-self. Only because they saw me living a good life, it doesn’t mean I don’t lead a hurtful life. I want to open, to share my pain.
Someday, I will be free. I will be breathing a fresh air. As for now, I tell myself that it’ll be better than this. We will do it together and time will help us to get there. I want to get back to my younger self, to thank her, who already knew since the beginning on how to cure our wound: by writing. She’s always there, waiting for me to realize that I have my weapon.
Thank you, younger self.
Thank you for waiting for me this long.
Thank you for being able to get through everything.
Thank you for trusting us.
I will take the rein, now, sit back and relax. We can do it.