Today, I'm writing for the kid who grew up too fast. Those who are stuck in the in-between of being a child and being an adult and stayed there because they don't know where to go. For all the girls who peaked too early and are struggling to come to terms of how the world goes.
I was making tea today -- iced and cold and refreshing, and I wondered how I got here. Or why I'm here. And you know, one can't avoid that sense of nostalgia because I used to drink tea at fourteen. All the time, with the same blue mug and the same silvery spoon.
Today, I'm willing to be that girl again.
Every person always feels robbed, one way or another. Every person feels like they could've done more because... the expectations are so high because you used to do so much.
It's shitty to be an achiever -- I'll be honest. Because it's one thing to love doing something and excel in it, and it's another to compete for everyone's affections and approval because you have to. Because it's expected of you.
Like it's your part to play for the rest of my life.
But it's tiring, you know? And I'm writing to you, because I don't really know who I'm gonna tell -- because I know you understand what it feels like. To constantly put yourself down because people expect you're greater and wiser and better, when really, you're not.
You're just another girl -- another head, another hand, another eye, another set of lungs breathing in this world, hoping that everything stops for a moment, but somehow feel selfish of asking too much. And when they do treat you like just another head -- just another set of lungs, learning to breathe, it hurts and pierces and twists because secretly, you want to recognition, you want the light that you shy away from.
I don't know what I'm saying or if I'm making sense.
But to the little kid who grew up too fast or was launched too early in life, the one who peaked early and feels like they're running so much behind--
Honey, there's still so much time ahead of you. And I know it's hard standing on your own feet and learning how to walk steps you think you've forgotten. I know you wince at each reminder of math competitions and contests, and it's okay to hate them. It's okay to hate math, and say fuck them.
I know you cry in the middle of the night -- sometimes, because you were told to suck it up and be grateful -- and think of what could've been. But you live in the now, hopia.
You live in the now, and you can be whoever you want to be, kid. And you can be whatever you want to be. Never let anything -- circumstance, or people or timing or whatever -- hinder you from anything.
Think of that little you fondly, but also, let them go. They belong to the past now, and you -- you, my darling, can start anew.
Hopia, I know it's been hard, but it's time to let her go, because it doesn't matter if you think she wouldn't be proud of you. She is -- she probably is. She'll probably look at you with wide eyes (not that her eyes are wide) and tell you you're cool for drawing for a living because she can only draw stick people and stick houses with rectangles for chimneys and triangle roofs.
I know you think you shouldn't be compared to a child because it's unfair -- but that's what you're doing, aren't you? You're comparing yourself to what could've been if she were your life.
It's time to let go, hopia. Hug her tight, and let her dissolve into a memory. She'd be happy in the stars, don't you think?
