Journal 4/30 | Dear M

Hey M, 

It's me. I don't really know how to start this memo and there's a lot on my mind but I guess I just wanted to say that it was nice to think about you again. I know you hated that word—“but”—and I’ve always used it too much. Looking back, it was one of those little things about us, one of many small gaps that grew into something larger over time.

The real reason I'm writing this is because I've been thinking about you, and I have been for the past year now. It comes in waves and quite honestly I thought everything that needed to get out of my system had enough time to do so. This past year was a year where I wasn't invited to participate in your life, nor you in mine. And yet, I've spent days if not weeks using my memories of you as a conduit to reconsider what love means to me and the type of person I'd like to become. I miss being involved in your life. Romance aside, you're one of the best people I've ever had the chance to meet. And the more time passes, the more I realize how special you are in my eyes. We didn't end in a way I'm proud of nor did I expect, and I don't write this to make an ultimatum or rewrite the wrongs of what already happened. I mean, who's going to read this anyway? I'm really, really lucky I met you and I can't thank you enough for showing me a glimpse of what true love looks like. 

For the past year—even more than that, probably even a couple months before we ended things—I had very little love for myself. I'm usually self-deprecating and "hate" myself in an ironic tone—you know that. It's not out of a lack of self-confidence or a lack of self. It's just who I am and I oscillate between extremes: sometimes I think I'm the shit and no one can touch me, and other times I see myself as a worthless collection of dust that was lucky to be born as a human being during the turn of the 21st century without any real capacity to reach a potential that millions of dead (and perhaps unborn) people would kill for. And every now and then (like now I guess), I reach a solid middle ground where I accept my blessings and capacity to contribute to great things. Because I am blessed. And I often wrongly used you as an excuse to feel that. In supporting you, I found a reflection of who I wanted to be, but I struggled to extend that same kindness to myself. I've been working on that—learning to celebrate my own wins as I celebrated yours. In you, I saw so many things that I wanted to be. I didn't yearn to be you—that isn't the right approach and I wouldn't seek to be with someone for the sake of them exhibiting characteristics that I lack. What I wanted was to learn to be a bit more like you and subconciously, maybe I thought that I could justify feeling content or happy about myself when good things eventually happened to me. Acting in that manner wasn't fair for either of us. And when things got even more tough, I found myself extending less and less love to you. 

When we said goodbye, I knew I cut off the best part of my life. I didn’t love myself, and instead of facing that, I ran away. I know I hurt you. I thought I was removing myself from your life so I wouldn’t drag you down even more—but I know now that it was just avoidance. At first, I felt okay. I was drowning in my own problems and had one less thing on my mind and one less person I was affecting. I wasn't able to control the negativity in my own head and for lack of better words, I gave up. I gave up on large parts of school, I gave up on friendships, I gave up on being happy. And I gave up on you. It hurt and yet I had a feeling that you would be fine. Or at least a part of me had hoped. Because you were strong and level-headed and beautiful. Because I'm just a poor guy who happened to sell you on a good first image. I didn't want to drag you down with me and I started to feel sorry for myself. And as you know, I'm the type of person who despises this type of sadness more than anything. I became even more of a shell of myself, wallowing in a recursive loop of negativity. During senior spring, I justified using vices by fronting my insomnia as an excuse and I outsourced the need to really focus on myself by talking to a therapist. I never really faced my problems and wasn't strong enough to treat you like you deserved to be treated or let you in on these aspects of my life. There's a quote from an episode of Louie and it goes something like, "misery is wasted on the miserable." And maybe this is the boomer in me coming out-- I think that's so apt and poetic. I chose to be miserable when I had so much to be grateful for, and I disregarded you throughout that process.

But now I realize that I am so, so, so lucky to be me. And I'm learning to love myself again even if it's slow. Learning to love myself because I am great and can make the lives of those around me a little better than yesterday. As the harsh and honest critic I am, I can say with confidence I'm pretty shit at that. Getting better but pretty bad. And I've chosen to actively focus on positives if I can help it. 

You are special to me. That hasn’t changed—you always will be. I know this might be selfish to say, but I hope you’re doing well, and I hope you’re surrounded by the kind of love and care you deserve. I wish I had been stronger to extend that love to you. I heard you got into med school at Georgetown. I'm so proud of you and I know you'll go on to be a wonderful doctor one day. They're so blessed. 

I keep myself busy with work, with my hobbies that like always might not lead anywhere, and with my thoughts. Sometimes I wonder what you're doing, what you're thinking, and how you're feeling. I'm not privy to this anymore—we're no contact. My alone time is now just that. Alone. By myself. Maybe it's wrong to have these thoughts. You've most definitely changed and grown into a different person over the past year. What's done is done and life moves on. People are busy and thinking about the future is scary. But somehow, the memory of you always lingers. Maybe you going to school in Georgetown is a cruel twist of fate. I only have a handful of friends here in D.C.—I'm lucky Tim is in the city but I haven't even hung out with him following graduation. I'm still getting used to living here. And to know you're nearby really sucks. Maybe we'll run into each other on a coffee run. Maybe we'll pass by on the street without realizing it. Or maybe we won't ever cross paths again. The thing that scares me most, though, is that if we do, you'll see me differently and your eyes will pass right through me. 

If we do see each other again, I don't know what I'd say. That scares me too. But I do want to meet you again. I want to get caught up with your life. And after collecting my thoughts in this memo, I've come to this conclusion: it's because I love you. And I think I always will. Over the past two weeks, I've listened to Daniel Caesar's, "Always," for over a hundred hours. It hits so deep and it makes me realize I'll always have a soft spot for you. I'm not writing this down because I want to get back together. It's not that kind of love. It's not conditional on what we are to each other—or at least what I am to you. Maybe you've found someone else and if that's the case, I'm happy for you. I'll still love you. 

So I guess the whole point of this rant is just to say... I miss you. 

I miss your smile. I miss your laugh. Both the light cheeky laugh of yours and the deep uncontrollable laugh you have when something's too funny. I miss the way you scrunch your nose and even your little sniffles. I miss the way you used to run into my arms. I miss the way you spritzed perfume behind your neck. I miss the way your ponytail used to swing and spread that same smell with each passing step. And even though I couldn't stand you sometimes when you got angry, I miss that part of you too. I miss how clammy your hands could get if I held onto them for too long. I miss your security and the way you think. And I miss the part of me that I no longer know without you here. 

I know post-grad life for you wasn't easy. And when you spent time in Korea to work on medical school applications, I should have been much more supportive of you. Instead, I didn't put you as a priority because I couldn't get things in my life in order. I wish I could have been more perceptive, and more willing to be helpful—not just when I thought it was necessary. Because we weren't just supposed to be there when the other person asked. Because we weren't spending time with each other just for the sake of spending time. We were more than that. 

Post-grad life is really really hard. It took me a while to get back on my feet, and it's only been a couple months since I've felt remotely settled. I now live with Annette around Washington D.C. Even my relationship with her is rocky. We're learning to spend a lot more time with each other—we've really never had the chance to do so since we were young and I'm sure you know a bit of what that might be like as an older sister. When we were kids, it was a much different dynamic. I'm learning to be more patient, to be kinder, and to be more understanding even if I feel like I'm in the right. If I'm being honest, I've never really had a great example to imitate. I don't want to downplay the people who helped me become who I am because I will always be grateful and want to share my love with them—it's just that being calm and understanding even when things got tough wasn't exactly a theme that I grew up with. Maybe the exception to that would be my grandparents... and you know how that really rattled my world. 

In this regard, I was really jealous of you, and not in a negative way. I don't really know your family that well. But when I visited you for graduation and saw how your dad just accepted everything with patience, it made me feel really warm. It made me feel like I wanted to grow into someone who could just be solid and dependable whilst being warm and kind. And it made me feel really happy that you grew up in such a loving environment like that. It was such a short interaction but sometimes I still think about that car ride when your little brother had to drive. Your brother was clearly stressed (rightfully so) and your dad took that with such grace. If that had been me in the driver's seat driving my older sister after her graduation and with my dad in the passenger seat, it would not have panned out like that. 

Looking back, we argued a lot about hypothetical scenarios. Back then, I didn't really understand exactly why we were unable to look past differences in opinions. And maybe it's because I was in a way forced to make light of stressful family situations to get by that I just don't understand what it's like to grow up in a family like yours. I read articles every now and again about how people who like to make jokes all the time use it as a coping mechanism. Even though I'm not sure how valid these conclusions are, a part of me thinks that's true. I'm not sure how to change my sense of humor or how to stop using it as a coping mechanism. I am, however, being more conscious of how to better carry myself. I no longer live with the people that forced me to put up walls and navigate stressful environments and it's time for me to change. I don't know what a normal family is but not having examples I'm confident in following is no longer an excuse to stay lost. Because they're all around me if I just look harder. You and your family have shown me small glimpses into what that is, and for that, I will always be thankful. 

As I'm writing my last update to this (long) memo, I'm listening to The Night We Met by Lord Huron on loop. I've been into that these days-- putting songs on repeat and just putting myself into a pseudo trance. It makes me think of how you would pick a song each week to help you look back on your memories in college. I loved that about you-- the small weird little quirks that brightened your day which in turn bled into others'. There's one beautiful line in this song: 'I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met.' So many people come in and out of my life and will continue to until I die. So many people I would like to reach out to-- for example, a notification popped up on my phone this morning that it's Eric's birthday-- but feel like I need an excuse to do so. It's never going to be the case that I reach out to everyone that pops into my mind. However, reflections like this allow me to appreciate the different people and environments that come in and out as I walk into another chapter of life. It makes me want to be someone that can have more grace towards people-- whether that's with a loving attitude or in a romantic relationship-- and meet them where they're at. To appreciate their little quirks and idiosyncracies that make them uniquely beautiful. 

If you don't care to hear from me again or see my face, I'd understand. Whatever happens, I want you to know that I'm always here for you. You're genuinely a wonderful human being with a kind and beautiful soul—I'm so lucky to have known you. 

That said, if you feel comfortable, I’d love to catch up over coffee or a walk. No pressure—just two old friends sharing some time together. If that’s something you’d be open to, let me know. And if not, I completely respect that too.

Take care of yourself. You deserve all the happiness the world has to offer.

Yours, 

S