Dear Ali,
I've gained weight. I've cut my hair, even though I promised that I wouldn't do that again. I've also gotten bangs again, even though we both agreed those were a mistake. They aren't now, they're cute. I've dyed my hair too many times to count at this point, although I have held my promise to never bleach it. I've dated several boys, and the one I'm dating now you won't meet for another three years. I wish you joy and more peace as you walk through the journey to get here with him. I am still stubborn, and I am so much louder than you were. I am actually loud now, and it is on purpose, and people notice. I no longer intentionally make myself small so that someone else can feel better about themselves. I fight to figure out why I feel my emotions, and even though sometimes I have a lot of them, I do not shame myself for them, nor do I consider myself "too much" because I have them.
I spend money on my writing now. I spend $96/year on a subscription service that helps me remember to write and to write quickly because I love it. I have let people read my writing, and they like it. They pick it apart and help me make it stronger. I am working up to letting mom and dad read my writing. I have a man who actively works to convince me that my writing is good. Go to college as an English major, darling. Fight for your work and your voice. Find it. And then look at the emotions, collect them, turn them into ink, and use it to write your words. Bleed onto a page. And then do it again. Convince your professor that the words you say matter. Do it. And then do it again. Keep fighting your way through that first draft of yours, it will teach you so much.
I wish I could sit across the table from you and hug you. I wish I could wipe the tears from your eyes and do henna on your wrists and promise you that you are not as invisible as you think you are. I wish I could feed you, and give you tea, and promise that you will be able to eat all kinds of food again someday, and that you will stop being sick every day, and that your teachers do actually like you. I wish I could inject you with confidence and tell you that you will get there again some day. That the confidence and noise that you wish you had in you will come back and you'll be able to wield it wisely and well. I wish I could look at you and tell you that you don't have to live reactively and you don't have to cover yourself in order to survive. That you will find a foundation and be able to stand upon it strongly.
You're a costume designer now. You spend all of your time looking at characters and asking them why they dress the way they dress and who they are and what their mother's favorite color was. You look at film students and tell them to do better at their jobs. You boss around people ten years older than you and gently support the freshmen under you. You're known for loving hard and loving well. You've made plenty of friends and several enemies and you're okay with that. The world does not revolve around the place you're in now, and it is so much bigger than you think it is.
I wish I could look you in the eyes and remind you: You are not a mistake. You are priceless. You are a Daughter of the Most High who loves you, died for you, and will always be with you. You are loved. You are worthy. You do not need to hide yourself. People may not like you, but make them take you. Your worth is not defined by man or by a man.
Courage, dear heart. The sun will come up tomorrow.
I spend money on my writing now. I spend $96/year on a subscription service that helps me remember to write and to write quickly because I love it. I have let people read my writing, and they like it. They pick it apart and help me make it stronger. I am working up to letting mom and dad read my writing. I have a man who actively works to convince me that my writing is good. Go to college as an English major, darling. Fight for your work and your voice. Find it. And then look at the emotions, collect them, turn them into ink, and use it to write your words. Bleed onto a page. And then do it again. Convince your professor that the words you say matter. Do it. And then do it again. Keep fighting your way through that first draft of yours, it will teach you so much.
I wish I could sit across the table from you and hug you. I wish I could wipe the tears from your eyes and do henna on your wrists and promise you that you are not as invisible as you think you are. I wish I could feed you, and give you tea, and promise that you will be able to eat all kinds of food again someday, and that you will stop being sick every day, and that your teachers do actually like you. I wish I could inject you with confidence and tell you that you will get there again some day. That the confidence and noise that you wish you had in you will come back and you'll be able to wield it wisely and well. I wish I could look at you and tell you that you don't have to live reactively and you don't have to cover yourself in order to survive. That you will find a foundation and be able to stand upon it strongly.
You're a costume designer now. You spend all of your time looking at characters and asking them why they dress the way they dress and who they are and what their mother's favorite color was. You look at film students and tell them to do better at their jobs. You boss around people ten years older than you and gently support the freshmen under you. You're known for loving hard and loving well. You've made plenty of friends and several enemies and you're okay with that. The world does not revolve around the place you're in now, and it is so much bigger than you think it is.
I wish I could look you in the eyes and remind you: You are not a mistake. You are priceless. You are a Daughter of the Most High who loves you, died for you, and will always be with you. You are loved. You are worthy. You do not need to hide yourself. People may not like you, but make them take you. Your worth is not defined by man or by a man.
Courage, dear heart. The sun will come up tomorrow.
Love,
Aletheia
Senior in College
