My Wish For You

My Wish For You

Last year, I wrote a letter to my past self, the one who needed guidance in a world she wasn’t sure she would make it in. This year, I want to write to the me right now, the one in practically the same place.

This is my wish for you.

I won’t pretend you’ve been okay for a while now. It’s so easy for me to give hopes for a happier life with this positivity that I can afford for anybody by myself. They say there’s such thing as toxic positivity. I don’t want to strangle myself with these expectations and comparisons of well-being that I might not be able to achieve right away.

So. These are my three hopes for you in this next year.

A voice. I’m sorry that you’ve learned there’s safety in silence. Even though you know it’s important to speak up, you’re still navigating the complexities of communication in this age. I hope you can learn to speak your truth with honesty and compassion and without the sacrifice of health and wellness.

Curiosity. That voice that nudges you to go off on the path not marked on your map, the way you’re most comfortable in unknown cities alone to explore untethered, the pull towards learning more that leaves you with 30 tabs open for half the night. You can’t learn anything new if you don’t ask. You can’t experience anything remarkable if you remain on the path. I think we’re due for another solo trip. Take a deep breath of the air we’re not acquainted with yet.

Life. This one I thought of as we blew out the candles today, my one clinging, desperate wish: I want not just to live, but to want to. You don’t have to get through each day with a list of accomplishments. You just have to get through them. Everything else will follow. Find your light and hold it close to you.

I won’t say you have all of these superhuman qualities or lovely personality traits, because I know that in the deepest depths of your darkness, you’d never believe me. But what’s undeniable is this: you are capable. You have made it through 100% of your worst days. You will continue to.

The me of now, the me of one minute from now, the me in my last moments, we will pull through. Together.



Little Moments of Clarity 🥀

Little Moments of Clarity 🥀

It happens completely out of nowhere.

You’ve been living in this horrible fog for so long, you’ve accepted it as your normal. Even when depression isn’t demanding every last bit of energy from you, dragging you down into the darkest depths until you’ve forgotten what light felt like on your face, you’ve grown accustomed to the gray that layers itself over everything.

And then, suddenly, it clears up, just for a moment. Just long enough for you to feel the ground shift and see the colors rush back.


This is what happiness felt like.

It always happens almost too quickly for me to understand what’s happening. I hold on to every second of it before it slowly fades back into gray and I’m left with so many questions. Mostly, why? Why now?

I try to keep track of these moments, try to make sense of their patterns and purpose. Sitting in the drive-thru at the Sonic somewhere in Missouri City, Texas, halfway between a bite and a laugh attack. Standing on the seemingly endless steps that probably lead to a temple somewhere in Nara, overlooking the matsuri below me and scoping out the takoyaki stands under a sky blazing purple and pink. Feeling something dark peel away from me as I look at my boyfriend over a tiny table at Bryant Park while he holds my hand and tells me about his creative work. The peace that washes over me as we watch the sunset from the river that evening, the pinks and purples reflecting in our glasses, a New York City day dissolving into the tranquility of that moment.

Oh. I’m alive.

I think depression makes you painfully aware of the feeling of barely being alive, but it’s not so obvious as the moment you realize you’re here. I still don’t know what to do with those moments. I absolutely despise the sensation of falling back into that gray, slowly, slowly, after finally being able to breathe just for a minute. It feels like cruelty to have normalcy dangled in front of my face only to be yanked away the second my fingers graze it.

But I’m also so thankful for those times. Not only because they’re a much-needed break, but because it’s proof that there is more than this. That horrible place where mental illness reigns is not my only destination. I’ve seen and felt that clarity before; it’s only a matter of time before I claim it.


This is For You: A Love Letter to Myself

This is For You: A Love Letter to Myself

This is for you.

You, fourteen years old, in the aftermath of your first breakup (but certainly not your first heartbreak), becoming acquainted with the lonely white of your bathroom walls because they’re the only place to release your panic in peace. How many nights have you stayed up all night with your back pressed to the bathtub, a hardcover copy of Twilight in your hands, absorbing Bella’s world and wishing for a vampire boyfriend who would protect you instead of diminish your worth? How many times have you struggled to squeeze Breaking Dawn into the space between your desk and the tops of your thighs, trying to hide it from teachers and disappear into this world of fangs and immortality as you please?

I’m glad you had a place to tuck away your panic when the world pushed down on your chest dangerously. Continue reading “This is For You: A Love Letter to Myself”