I had the biggest burst of inspiration to write a letter to my year. I tried listing my accomplishments but I feel like this style is a lot more poetic and a lot more "me." Because I'm an overachiever who can't deal with anything less than perfection, I've recorded myself reading this letter. I heavily recommend you listen to it as you read the post. Please, I spent a lot of time doing it and I feel like my words carry more meaning with the audio. However, I know that not everyone is an auditory learner, which is why the text version of the letter is also available. Thank you so much for reading.
Dear 2015,
Well, it's been a while. I've loved you. I've hated you. I've cried over your existence, wanting you to go by like the elementary school dreams I once had [in those dreams, I was a barbie princess with a squirrel as an adviser.] However, at one point, I actually did want time to stop so I could savor the moment of being in the same room as my friends while we cried over Captain America at four in the morning. But the most important thing I've learned about you, dear two-k-fifteen, is that you were my opportunity for change.
And that's not to say that I don't like who I am. I mean, up until you came into my life, I didn't. Honestly, I hated myself. I never felt smart enough, kind enough, talented enough or pretty enough. For fifteen years, I wandered in limbo asking myself, "Have I impacted anyone's life in a positive way? Would anyone care if I dropped off the face of the Earth? Right now?" And in happy tears and ugly cries, I can finally type that you gave me the confidence to say that I am enough while pointing my favorite finger at those who disagree. Because, that's what we are as humans. Flaws. We're catastrophes and whether our packaging comes in designer clothing or thrift shop apparel, somehow we see so much beauty in each other so why not see the beauty in ourselves?
You have given me the time and the silence to realize that I don't need to listen to other people to feel worth. I am more than my number of likes on instagram. I am more than my twitter followers. I'm more than the steps I take to go to school or the number of times I've been yelled at for speaking out during class. I'm the way I make others feel. The smile when people see me coming, expecting some weird humor to brighten their day. I'm the loud person in my book club, screaming about my sunken ships and throwing popcorn at the TV when we watched Percy Jackson that one time. Seriously, though, why did they have to do that?????
Last year, I didn't really know what I was doing, not to say that I know what I'm doing right now.
I started writing a novel in 2014 known as Seventh Sense. It's premise is about the bad in all of us. When I first drafted the concept, I was not in a good place. I was hated among the school and everyone saw me as something I didn't want to be. Seventh Sense is about morally grey characters who made me feel like I wasn't alone. Sometimes when we say we want to be good people, we leave out the part that we don't. know. how. And now, in 2015, I finished typing two final words that affirmed the theory that even though we don't feel like good people, it's never too late to change.
By nature, I've never been the quiet kid. Rather, I view those quiet kids as math equations far beyond my years. Because for me, being the least bit silent is the equivalent of being forgotten and if I'm forgotten, what's the point of doing anything? I have so many things to say and not enough time to say it.
Which is why I got into film work and created not one, but both a booktube channel and bookstagram. Blogging is my one true love, but I'm not satisfied unless I learn everything. And a year ago, if you'd asked me about cameras, I would've laughed in your face. I used to... hate the way I look on film, with the strangest of faces with the most number of chins but now, all of that makes me laugh because that number of chins and awkward expressions is who I am in real life. And since my biggest critic is myself, let the public tear me apart.
Sometimes I look back on my photography and think that I started with a low self esteem and a Nexus 4 that was out to get me. Now, I have a really good quality Nikon with a price I'd never be able to justify if not for everything.
Not only did my hands get to do things they've never done before, my feet were able to take a magical journey to publishing houses. There is magic in this world and that experience made me realize it. A million and one thank yous. Out of Time is an itty bitty book blog in an ocean that is the internet and yet, somehow, I find myself remembered by the people I care about most: the bloggers, the readers, the followers... no, the friends.
Thank you for the support to post thought-provoking discussions without the fear of backlash. And yeah, I've been called names but now that I have, I can say with absolute certainty: it is worth it. Because "immature brat" is drowned out by the hundreds of people who click my posts and comment that I'm writing about what they've always wanted to write themselves but won't because it's ugly. And it's awful. And it's one hundred percent true. Bloggers are all here for different reasons and for me, it's a sanctuary for when real life gets too tough. I escape a battleground to come to a land of WiFi and old books smells and perhaps, I'm not the only one who does this. I come for the friends I've made and the friends I'm going to continue to make. Everyone is going through something and you've taught me to remember kindness because it's time to make this community even more amazing than it already is. I know, it's going to be hard, but I'll try.
So in lieu of this realization in 2015, you better be reading along, 2016, because I'm about to make you my [redacted].
