I met my younger self for coffee tonight. She arrived a little late—not surprising, since we’ve never been morning people. The night always felt more like home anyway, quieter, softer, a space where thoughts could unravel without interruption.
She ordered something simple, no sugar. I smirked. “You’ll stick with that habit,” I told her, and she looked pleased, as if she had just won a silent argument.
She studied me, curious but cautious. “Did we make it?” she asked, a mix of excitement and hesitation in her voice.
I knew what she meant. The future always felt like a blurry canvas back then, uncertain and intimidating. “We’re still painting it,” I said. “But yes, we’re getting there.”
She leaned in, eager to know more. I told her about the paths we took—Mass Communication, Photojournalism, then Art & Design. She raised an eyebrow at that last part, but I assured her it made sense in the end. I mentioned the PhD, and she nearly choked on her drink. “No way,” she said, laughing. “Us?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “It always made sense. We just didn’t realize it yet.”
She swirled the last bit of her coffee, thoughtful. “Are we happy?”
I exhaled. “We have our moments. But we’re doing what we love. We’re growing. We’re finding peace in our own way.”
She smiled, satisfied for now. As she got up to leave, she hesitated, then said, “Hey… thanks for not giving up on me.”
I watched her disappear into the night, knowing she’d always be a part of me.
No comments:
Post a Comment