To Noy, on December 31, 2014
Every year, I write a letter on New Year's Eve addressed to myself on New Year's Eve of the next year.
I tell myself how proud and grateful I am for all the things that I have overcome and accomplished. I list all the people I've come to love, and I challenge myself to love them better and more deeply. I revisit my dreams, and take account of how far I've come along in realizing them.
There are two things that each of my old selves for the last 11 years hoped, and prayed, and wished would be different by the time the next new year arrived:
1. That I would be free from poverty or debt in order to have enough income to help others with their own financial hardships.
2. That I would be in a relationship with a good "man for others", greeting a new year and all its promise at his side.
Every year, whether at midnight or right before I fall asleep, I have moment where I truly believe and am convinced that somehow the coming year will be different. I tell myself that I've grown so much, that I have so much to offer now, that I am strong, that I am resourceful, that I'm worthwhile. This time, it will be my turn. This year, I'll have plans for the weekend. This year, I'll be the one to rescue someone else from having to default on their student loans. This year, I'll have enough money saved to visit a friend who I miss who lives far, far away. This year, I can dread changing my relationship status and posting pictures on facebook, and do all the silly, trite things people do and think about when they are in love with someone who loves them in return. I'll look back on all the years of loneliness and struggle and growth, and be grateful that I made it to the day when finally, at last, at least one of these circumstances is different.
But every year, for the last 11 years, I've had to look back on my hopeful selves and whisper, "I'm sorry." There is no one else to blame, no one else to give excuses to, no one else who has something at stake, and might care one way or another. There's just me. So I take a moment to forgive myself, and I remind myself of all ways and all the times I really did try my best. I tell myself that that's enough for me, and that's all I can ask of myself.
Every year, its the same. Every year, I believe. Every year, I try. And every year, when the bells all ring and the horns all blow, I number among the missing. To my sorrow, tonight is no different.
I will break the cycle. somehow. someway. Not just for myself, but for the sake of every other heart who feels these chains. I realize that life is cruel and arbitrary, that fairness, merit, and karma are but only illusions, but I refuse to allow myself or others to give into such despair, despite the fact that we may have every reason to.
"With a pure heart and a beautiful dream, anything is possible."
"True dreams are divine grace woven into human will- before such luminous majesty, even reality must buckle and give way to the power of a miracle."
"O Star of Mercy and Grace! Holy Source of all light and life. You are the Love with which I love, and one day, when I meet him, You will be my gift to him."
I can not let down the hopeful heart who wrote these sweet words once upon a time, no matter how hurt, how calloused, how scarred, how angry, how lost, embittered, and jaded I might be. The fragments cut deeply into my skin as I hold them. I understand now that when you ask someone to truly cling to hope in such circumstances, it is blood that fills their hands, not glitter or platitudes.
So to Me, on December 31st, 2014:
I'll cut to the chase- I tried, friend. And I'm sorry if it's all the same again. But if it actually is different this time, do me a favor.
Don't take it for granted. Be generous. Be grateful.
And bless him with a kiss for me.
I tell myself how proud and grateful I am for all the things that I have overcome and accomplished. I list all the people I've come to love, and I challenge myself to love them better and more deeply. I revisit my dreams, and take account of how far I've come along in realizing them.
There are two things that each of my old selves for the last 11 years hoped, and prayed, and wished would be different by the time the next new year arrived:
1. That I would be free from poverty or debt in order to have enough income to help others with their own financial hardships.
2. That I would be in a relationship with a good "man for others", greeting a new year and all its promise at his side.
Every year, whether at midnight or right before I fall asleep, I have moment where I truly believe and am convinced that somehow the coming year will be different. I tell myself that I've grown so much, that I have so much to offer now, that I am strong, that I am resourceful, that I'm worthwhile. This time, it will be my turn. This year, I'll have plans for the weekend. This year, I'll be the one to rescue someone else from having to default on their student loans. This year, I'll have enough money saved to visit a friend who I miss who lives far, far away. This year, I can dread changing my relationship status and posting pictures on facebook, and do all the silly, trite things people do and think about when they are in love with someone who loves them in return. I'll look back on all the years of loneliness and struggle and growth, and be grateful that I made it to the day when finally, at last, at least one of these circumstances is different.
But every year, for the last 11 years, I've had to look back on my hopeful selves and whisper, "I'm sorry." There is no one else to blame, no one else to give excuses to, no one else who has something at stake, and might care one way or another. There's just me. So I take a moment to forgive myself, and I remind myself of all ways and all the times I really did try my best. I tell myself that that's enough for me, and that's all I can ask of myself.
Every year, its the same. Every year, I believe. Every year, I try. And every year, when the bells all ring and the horns all blow, I number among the missing. To my sorrow, tonight is no different.
I will break the cycle. somehow. someway. Not just for myself, but for the sake of every other heart who feels these chains. I realize that life is cruel and arbitrary, that fairness, merit, and karma are but only illusions, but I refuse to allow myself or others to give into such despair, despite the fact that we may have every reason to.
"With a pure heart and a beautiful dream, anything is possible."
"True dreams are divine grace woven into human will- before such luminous majesty, even reality must buckle and give way to the power of a miracle."
"O Star of Mercy and Grace! Holy Source of all light and life. You are the Love with which I love, and one day, when I meet him, You will be my gift to him."
I can not let down the hopeful heart who wrote these sweet words once upon a time, no matter how hurt, how calloused, how scarred, how angry, how lost, embittered, and jaded I might be. The fragments cut deeply into my skin as I hold them. I understand now that when you ask someone to truly cling to hope in such circumstances, it is blood that fills their hands, not glitter or platitudes.
So to Me, on December 31st, 2014:
I'll cut to the chase- I tried, friend. And I'm sorry if it's all the same again. But if it actually is different this time, do me a favor.
Don't take it for granted. Be generous. Be grateful.
And bless him with a kiss for me.