Lately, more than ever before, I’ve been thinking back to the kid I used to be in a good, nostalgic way.
A Letter to the Kid I Used to Be.
I remember being the kind of kid who was so shy she couldn’t look at people’s faces, and when I say people I mean adults and children. At the same time I was also the kind of kid who preferred to spend time with adults, hear their conversations, their stories and learn from their experiences instead of spending time playing with the other kids.
I remember being the kind of kid who spent her time living in a world made of books while sitting in the car waiting for my dad to be done with work and take me home, or while sitting on the side of the road while my parents, my grandparents and my uncles picked grapes or kiwi or olives.
I remember being the kid who was so empathetic it hurt to know other people were in pain.
I remember being the kind of kid who felt too much pressure to be perfect and ended up overthinking and doubting everyone and everything.
I miss the girl who was so competitive one year she decided to become the first one in her class and achieved her girl.
I miss the girl who could spend hours and hours in her own little room and just read. As soon as she opened her eyes she took the latest book she had been reading from her bedside table and started reading. And reading was the last thing she did at night time before her dad came in her room and forced her to turn off the light and go to sleep.
I miss the girl who was so comfortable with herself she could spend hours and hours on her own.
But one day the girl grew up and stopped reading as much, stopped dreaming as much, left her home and started a new life somewhere else.
This year I want to bring back some of her light.
I want to go back to being the girl who read, the one who dreamed of working in publishing, the one who cared about people because it was part of who she was and she didn’t care to get anything in return. I want to be there for my family and I want to love spending time with myself like I used to.
What happened to that little girl? Is she still there? Maybe she’s just reading a book sitting in the car waiting for me to be done with work.
