am i jealous of who i was a year ago?

would she be jealous of me?

“Your new life will cost you your old life.”

I didn’t truly understand that concept until quite recently. A simple but powerful saying that I can’t seem to escape. It keeps popping up in random passages, in 6-second TikTok videos, even on my Twitter feed (I refuse to call it X). I’m unable to ignore it. The Universe has a lesson to teach me and I think by now we all know I’m not always the best student.

Let me start this ramble by saying I’m well aware that nothing is permanent— nothing is forever. If we’re being honest forever is a concept that we, as human beings, can’t fully comprehend, yet the idea of eternity has plagued the human spirit since the beginning of time (fun word fact: the word forever was introduced to the Old English language in the late 14th century, often written as one word from the late 17th century before becoming a common noun around 1858). Whenever I ponder about the concept of forever I always think about how endearing it is that someone, thousands of years ago, felt so compelled by love or passion or desire to create a word that transpires reality. We know forever doesn’t exist, at least not in our reality, and yet we hope— we make up words to try to trick ourselves into believing it. How beautiful is that? We sit beside lovers and friends promising them forever because we’re hardwired to be hopeful creatures. We desire consistency. We don’t want to even mutter the possibility of change into existence— we bury it beneath promises of an imaginary forever. However delusional it may be, all of us secretly hope that one of these promises reigns true, that we defy the odds. I know every time I have promised forever I’ve meant it— the version of me that promised forever will always mean it, even if my current self is unable to fulfil those desires.

Anyway, back to it. I started thinking about this idea, of having to give up what you once desired, or what you thought would be forever, to step into your new life. My iPhone keeps bombarding me with those “one year ago today” notifications. Seriously, for the last few days, I’ve woken up to a notification from my photo library telling me to click back to see what I was up to a year ago today. I don’t need a notification to remember, as one of my new favourite writers

Valerie

(who I recently interviewed for my magazine) put it: I remember everything and it’s ruining my life. I don’t need a push notification to take me back in time, I spend enough time there as is; it is hard being the one that always remembers. It is both a blessing and a curse.

However, it feels like the Universe is testing me, sending me constant reminders of all that I’ve had to sacrifice and endure to become who I am today. If I’m being honest, I’m unsure if I clicked on those notifications at the crack of dawn out of curiosity or as a form of punishment (probably a bit of both), using my camera roll to get a glimpse of what once was. I couldn’t help but mull over how different my life looks today versus last year.

Admittedly, I got a bit fixated on scrolling through the photos. I thought I was at a point in my life where I could walk down memory lane without falling victim to nostalgia and misery. Yet, I couldn’t help but spiral down a rabbit hole of mystifying emotions. There were photos of me smiling beside people no longer in my life, photos of me working at a job I would get laid off from in two months time, photos of me halfway across the world with my best friend. Comparing it to my current camera roll, it felt like looking at a different person’s life. I could barely recognise myself.

my brother and i and the world’s cutest dog, june 2023

Last year feels a million lightyears away— I no longer remember her as vividly as I once did. I do remember she was happy. I do know that. She was also confused, and nervous, and unsure about every decision she was making. Looking through those photos provoked those same feelings. I don’t think the Sierra from last year would quite believe the events that have transpired in one short year. We would sit across from each other in a dimly lit bar, dirty martinis in hand. She would listen to everything I told her, she would awkwardly hold me as I cried, slowly shaking her head and shrugging, saying something along the lines of “God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers”. My memory of her may be fading but I once was her, so I am still cognisant of the fact that the only way she would be able to deal with the knowledge of our future would be with humour. I also know she would go home and cry under a heap of blankets because she hasn’t yet learned how to show others her softness in the same ways I now know how to. The nurturing part of me wants to save her from all this pain, to taint the magic of the moment with the knowledge of her future, but I know she needs to go through it, I know I can’t warn her, I can only hold her after the dust has settled.

If you’ve been here since the beginning of this newsletter, you know that over these last months, I’ve gone through a bit of a self-transformation. Or rather, I spent many months kicking and screaming and trying to avoid change, as if my resistance could prevent me from being forced through it anyway.

For the first time, maybe ever, I finally feel like I’m spending time in my body and not just my mind. As I look through these photos my chest is tight, with love yes, but also with longing. The logical side of my brain is rushing to explain these emotions to me, to rationalise and justify. However, I’m learning that I don’t always need a story to accompany my pain, it can exist without explanation. When it comes I must feel it, I must let it flow through me, I must not stifle my feelings. As a storyteller, I’ve spent my whole life crafting elaborate narratives, but some things can’t be explained. No matter how pretty we try to make them, some things just are, and that’s as much information as we get.

No matter how much I heal I’m still a poet at heart. And a poet is always best known for her endless yearning, I don’t think that will ever change. However, I’m learning to not let it swallow me whole in the same way it once did. There are nights I stay up till the crack of dawn yearning for every version of myself that I’ve been. It feels jovial to say it, but there are parts of me that are jealous of the girl from a year ago.

a year ago in Berlin with two of my closest friends, oh my god i miss you so much Nunu— you have a piece of my heart and you take it everywhere you go, i love you.

When I’m no longer clouded by nostalgia and the bittersweetness of ageing memories I’m sure I’ll come to realise that she too would be jealous of me, of the girl sitting here a year later writing this. I know she would be proud of the decisions I’ve made and the way I’ve held myself through pain and loss. She would be proud of the ways I have stood up for myself professionally and personally. She would be proud that I did not waver in my love for myself— for us. It’s a fine line. To be grateful for all the love and fun I’ve gotten to experience in the last year while still holding space for the grief that catches up to me at the most unusual times.

Since my brain has been so clouded by nostalgia I’ve been moaning and groaning over the whole ordeal to my lovely friends, and the other day one of my close friends asked me if I would do it all over again, knowing how it would end. She was referring to many things I think, but I know she was really trying to ask me about one thing in particular. I’m normally indecisive, but I knew the answer to her question before she even finished asking it. Yes, of course I would. I wouldn’t be who I am, or where I am, without every person, place, and situation that has transpired in my life. Even the most painful moments I wouldn’t erase. Every moment has been mine to experience; a receipt I get to wave in the air as proof that I’m living and I’m alive and I’m human and so much of this experience is painful yes but so much of it is beautiful and sometimes I feel like I’m choking on all of it at once but oh my god it’s all mine. My life is mine. I fought tooth and nail for this life. It is mine to show off, pain and love and sorrow and longing and pleasure and all. I am proud of this little life of mine because I know what I had to endure to make it here.

Yet, I’m still human. There are still moments I wish had unfolded differently; I wish I had lingered in the doorway a bit longer that morning; I wish I had the courage to leave when I was 19 and thought I was deserving of such cruel treatment; I wish I hadn’t been a bad friend that night and walked away; I wish I didn’t spend so many years angry at the world; I wish I had been kinder to myself. Sometimes I get stuck in that kind of wishful thinking. Crawling out of the depths of it isn’t easy, I have to remind myself it’s in the past and all I can do about it now is wish it was different. If I sit here wishing I had fought harder, said something different, or stayed instead of walking out that door, I would never truly move forward. I would spend the rest of my life stuck in a spiral of “what ifs” and “could have beens”. There is comfort in living in the past, in reminiscing on all the ways my life could have turned out differently if only I did, or said, XYZ. The future is full of unknowns, full of potential mistakes I can make and it is terrifying. It is scary to walk forward when you only want so desperately to cling to the past, but remaining stuck there only holds you back. It’s exciting to know I have so many more mistakes to make, I have so many more people to meet, I have so much love still to give.

Over these last few months, I’ve watched my “old life” slip right through my fingers. All that remains of the past are photos and trinkets; old receipts from movies and dinners, all full of scribbled notes to remind me of their significance. And I’m happy I have those things to remember it all by. I’m happy I’ll always remember what drink I ordered the night my heart was so full I thought I would throw up out of pure bliss. I’m happy I have a photo of my best friend crying in my arms before she boarded a flight that would take her halfway across the world from me. I’m happy the shirt my dad gave me when I was 10 still fits me but now smells like my roommate’s favourite detergent. I’m happy my younger self knew not to rely solely on memory— she was smart enough to give me tangible proof that it’s all been real.

The more I think about it though the less confident I become in the idea of having to give up my old life for my new— I don’t have to bury it but it doesn’t have to be so heavy anymore. I can forgive myself, and others, for the ways in which I’ve hurt and been hurt. I don’t have to hold onto suffering as evidence of a life well-lived. Every little moment of my life I would do over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. I am a better person for it— for all of it. For the pain. For the suffering. For the loneliness. For the happiness. For the love. For the bliss. I wouldn’t give away a single moment, I wouldn’t try to rewrite a single sentence. I hold these memories so close to my chest that as I walk into this next chapter of my life they are the everpresent reminders of everything I have to be grateful for.

I’ve been lucky, there’s been love. There’s been so much love and I’m so grateful for it. I carry the pieces of it with me everywhere I go, always.

Let’s end this with some sappy words why don’t we, I’m still a poet after all:

If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that sometimes you have to sacrifice what you thought you wanted to make room for what’s always been meant for you. That doesn’t mean you can’t long for the way things used to be. It’s okay to miss who you were and what you had, but every end is a new beginning, even if it doesn’t feel like it at first.

a screenshot from a good friend, who asked me how to let go and move on

This is for a close friend of mine: I wish I could take away your pain but I hope these words help instead.

The first step in “moving on” is to acknowledge that you’ll never actually forget what happened— when we position it as moving on we do ourselves a disservice by thinking that we can go on pretending that we are the same as we were beforehand. To be loved is to be changed. No one walks away from love the same person they were stepping into it. You have to move forward, not on. In this moment, your heart may be shattered, but it is not broken; the more our heart cracks the more light can come in, the easier it becomes for us to understand, sympathize, and empathise with others. That doesn’t negate how painful of an experience it is, and it can be particularly difficult to get over the anger and hurt you experience during heartbreak.

Stop running yourself in circles trying to understand how someone could do something so unkind to you: be grateful you do not understand why or how. Celebrate the fact that you would have never done that. Wish them well. Let go of the narrative you’re telling yourself that it had anything to do with you. Someone can love you very much and still hurt you because they’re fighting something inside themselves. It’s not personal, it’s just the risk we take when we fall in love. When we are in pain we often hurt the people closest to us.

Moving forward is understanding that you’ll always carry a piece of them with you. The love was there, it was real and now it is gone but you get to keep those memories. Don’t ever regret loving someone, it is the bravest thing a human being can do.

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I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this month’s edition of Confessions of a 20-Something. I encourage you to share this with your close friends if you feel like it’s the kind of thing they’d be into.

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Until next month …