7.29.24: Coming home
always feels like a step into a different world. A very distant, nostalgic world.
I'm 14 years old again, insecure as hell in P.E. class. I've latched myself to a group of friends who are probably cooler than me, but okay with me for some reason. (We're all insecure, that's the magic about high school). We're walking around the track when we should be running the mile. We're rebellious like that (I am actually very very nervous that the teacher is going to yell at us). We sit on a bench in the shade when he's not looking. We pick honeysuckles from a nearby branch. We trade our secrets - Emily forgot to shave this morning, Judy is re-wearing her bra for the 3rd day in a row. The sophomore boys jog past us. My secret is you.
I'm 16 years old again, going to Kohl's with my mom to do back to school shopping. I'm at the age where I wouldn't want to be caught dead shopping with my mom, but no one at school shops at Kohl's (or claims to, at least), so I'm safe. Kohl's has always been a safe space. I nervously pick out new clothes, for a new me - there's always a new me these days, at least a few ones each year. I begrudgingly try on the clothes my mom picks out for me. I pick out a few new outfits - some of them will work and some won't, but that's not the only time I'll learn that lesson.
I'm 18 years old again, on a date at the mall. We just watched a movie and I'm still getting used to having his arms around my shoulders in the theatre. It feels a little awkward with the large seat arms between us, but his hand in mine always feels just right. We go to buy some dessert, and while he pays for my ice cream I sneak a glance at the neckline of his white t-shirt just as it moves over an exposed collarbone. He usually likes to dress in button-downs but I love him in a simple tee. We walk hand-in-hand around the mall, killing time - it's the suburban way to say "I want to spend more time with you, though there isn't much to do". We run into a few friends we know from school, and they giggle and wave when they see us together. I'm still a little shy about this, about us, but I don't mind getting spotted together - kind of like it, even. We get to share a bit of our secrets to the world.
I'm 20 years old, catching up with friends over a bowl of jjajangmyeon and a shared platter of tangsuyuk. We just finished a long week at our summer internships. We're still learning what to say during morning stand-ups. The other intern on my team made an odd comment about my heels, which made me self-conscious. Karen validated me by calling him weird. We had spent the latter half the day in a shared meeting room, giggling over our phones and researching how to improve our credit score. When 5 o'clock came, we shut our laptops and booked it out to get dinner, like kids running out of school when the last bell rings before summer. Granted, it was summer, and we were kids. We were giddy with the long days ahead of us, and the last year of college was approaching and promising us sweet memories: new loves, long nights staying up making art and studying, watching the sun rise together, getting hired for our first full-time jobs, drinking our way through the town that watched us grow for the past four years.
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I'm 28 years old at the same track again. I'm trying to run more often now. Running is cool now, unlike when we were 14. Everyone I know is training for a 5k, a 10k, a marathon. Being healthy is cool now. A couple friends of mine are having a dry July. (I haven't committed to something like that, but I don't feel the need to have more than one drink on Friday evenings now. Drinking ruins my next morning and I feel all groggy at yoga.) Then sun is beating down on my exposed back and it smells of blacktop and turf. I took my cool riverside runs in Boston for granted. I have a podcast playing in my year as I jog past the bench we used to slack off on. A few high schoolers are practicing lacrosse on the field. I remember when I had a crush on that boy on the lacrosse team, but I don't think I ever learned his name. I post my run on Strava.
I'm 28 years old with my mom at Kohl's again. I don't care who sees me (all of my friends have moved out of town. I would be elated if I ran into anyone I knew). I don't care that I probably look like a teenager shopping with their mom. Well, I'd actually love it if anyone thought that, but they probably don't. They probably think "look at that 20-something-year-old. Still shopping with her mom. Adorable" and I think the same. I think "I feel so child-like" when I try on clothes with mom in the family stall. She still doesn't quite understand my taste in fashion. But I understand mine a lot better. I think "I feel so humble" when my mom pulls out her coupons at the cash register. (I was not thinking that when I bought $100 pants at Aritzia the other day). I think "I feel so grateful" when she pays for my shoes. I think my mother's love language is Kohl's.
I'm 28 years old running errands at the mall. I stop to look in a store only a few minutes. I know I won't buy anything anyway, because I don't like to impulse shop in person anymore. I just shop online and return half of my items afterwards, the last part being precisely why I'm at the mall today. The lady behind the counter processes my returns, and I feel a little better about how irresponsible I've been with money lately when she hands me the receipt for the $24 soon to be returned to my card. It's not really about the money, to be honest, it's that I don't want to own as many unnecessary things anymore. It makes my apartment look cluttered, it makes moving a hassle. (Many would argue I still own many unnecessary things, but I think I'm getting better). I walk past a horde of teenagers coming out from the AMC. It's been a while since I've been on a movie date. I make a mental note of the movies I've been wanting to see, and to ask you to watch them with me the next time I see you. Movie dates are not so butterfly-inducing as before, but they're more fun now. I love it when you turn toward me after we've just watched a particularly shitty movie trailer and whisper "that looks so bad?". I love catching your eye laughing at the same jokes (it only makes them funnier), or gripping your hand during an emotional scene and we both know that the tears are streaming down my face. I don't hide my emotions with you.
I'm 28 years old eating jjajangmyeon and tangsuyuk with friends again. Over our barley tea, Dave and Kim recount their woes of wedding planning. I've been putting off our own wedding planning, and I don't quite have an answer when people ask why. "No rush," they say, and I feel rushed. I think I'm afraid to grow up. A blink of an eye ago, we were college seniors, fresh-faced interns, fueled by the potential of our futures. Now I've been working a job I only like sometimes for six years. We don't bother to catch up about work. We talk about our upcoming travel plans - now this is something I enjoy talking about. I love traveling, but I've been traveling a lot lately. Sometimes I like getting lost in the endless plans, but sometimes I forget who I am when the plans subside. I don't say this out loud. We trade recommendations for cafes in Seoul.
I'm 28 years old writing on tumblr again. I've been feeling lost again, but it's a different type from before. I'm doing really well at work, I'm engaged to the love of my life, I'm catching up with friends and jet-setting all across the world. It's the kind of lost you get when you're moving too fast through a crowd, you forget to slow down and notice the signs and sights before you. You forget to turn back and check on where you came from, who you've left behind. You forget to be playful again, to dream again, to giggle and tell secrets and experiment and be awkward. Coming home reminds me of her again - of the 14 year old, 16 year old, 18 year old, even the 20 year old who still laughs and dreams within me. Coming home reminds me to hold her close, but it also shows me how much I've changed. It reminds me to keep moving forward, for my 28 year old self. I feel like I'm older and should know the answers to everything. But I'm 28 and I'm young and dumb and a little silly for thinking that everyone's got it together. I'm 28 and young and brave and have so much to learn.
