Friday, February 05, 2010

Opening the hope in my chest.

Fast fall, I decided to go through my writings. I had a lot of them. I wrote, as it seemed, every single breathing second of my life back then. Writing was what kept me going. There, inside my hope chest, my drawers, under my bed, on my shelves, contained years of a life that belongs only to me. Many things I wrote made me cry. Bunch of them drove me insane with laughter, as well. I was honest, and unbelievably open with this friend, also known as my alter ego, one I couldn't live without. I named her Di. Reading my letters to Di reminded me for whom I once was, who I am now, and best of all, who I always will be.

I decided to take some pictures of my entries. I ended up taking over 600. There is no way I am showing all of them. I have respect for my "younger-self". She had things she wanted to keep private, and I am not going to take that away from her. Yet, there are some I could not resist showing. Some things I may show some people. Then finally, as for some, I am willing to show the world someday.

However, for now, this is what you are going to get. The tip of an iceberg.

(before I show the entries, let's take a look at what my room looked like when I decided to literally bring my writings out of hiding and ended up soliciting my room for weeks).

(click on the pictures to enlarge the photographed entries)

 October 9, 1993. I was eight years old when I told my father I wanted to be a boss lawyer. I remember that conversation vividly. He told me I can do it if I worked hard enough. I am hesitating about the boss part now, though; yet I am sure Dad would be pleased to know I am currently pursuing two masters at the same time. One of my masters is in legal studies at Kaplan University. Reading this entry today gave me the unshakable confidence that dreams do come true. Yes, my own dreams. :)

June 1, 1995. Trust me, I was just wearing my best "pity ME" face while I must have done something nasty to my brother for my mother to say such thing.

... see what I mean? That was a classic self-portrait of me as a ten-year-old. But hey, you would do the same if you had someone snapping rubber bands at you (which HURT). In this case, revenge is a delight. ;)
(I was obsessed with the Sweet Valley series, hence the Lila Fowler, Jessica Wakefield, and Amy Sutton names)

I found this to be worthy writing about. Goodness. I want to be ten again.

I laughed so hard when I read this.  Nothing screams a ten year old Jessie any louder than this one. Now the whole world is against me except for Justin. The one who snapped rubber bands at me is now my most favorite person. I was worried about going into the middle school, which I think is actually, for all practical purposes, sweet.

Very important entry for here I present you one of the most meaningful events of my life:
"Fallon is moving back here!" 

Whew. I am glad you knew that. Apparently, junior high had done you good.

Oh, aww. How would I love to sneak in the boys' bathroom for the sake of excitement and... things like that.

Yup. True.

*laughs* annual end of the year field trip to Hershey Park. I remember how much I loved seventh grade. Was such a FUN year.

Where is the rush? You are only twelve.

Who said being twenty-five is easy?!?! 
Oh by the way, welcome to the eighth grade. :)

I remember that night very well. Thirteen years old and this was a poignant time in my life. Something ignited inside me.

Ah, freshman year. I was fourteen years old and ULTRA-melodramatic. I bet you if I ever find that "epic", I would be mortified at what I wrote I probably would shatter with relief it was never published in the Washington Post.

Then came my sophomore year... and I calmed down, just a bit. I was thrown right in the middle of being a teenager. Growing pains, awkward stages, and the stuff we all shudder to reminisce. Despite that, it was the year when I was old enough for my father and I to have those talks which helped us understand each other better.

Fifteen and... PREGNANT! Why, yes... with twins.

All of sudden, all is right with the world. Trust Daddy to make you believe you are the most beautiful girl on the planet.

And, trust Mom to be (almost) always right. Took me (about) ten years to realize that.

I really should not feel pity... I was too quick to pass any kind of conviction. What if he actually embraced being in a wheelchair? Looking back, I realize it was because I witnessed a moment of struggle, and the struggle was what broke my heart. I let a moment be my understanding of him or people like him, which was (still is) very limited. The sensitive side of me reacted... it was my first time seeing someone experiencing that certain kind of effort. Now, he probably got into the van, drove home to his wife and laughed with her about the recent situation. I would not know. On the other hand, if this man lived in his woes, spends every minute of his day lamenting himself and expects others to do the same, my heart does break.

Oh high school proms how I miss you so!


Cute, yeah, but what are you talking about?

That is because you wrote instead of doing your homework.

I wish my summers still looked like that :)

Moving on. Junior year.

I know.

*smiling* the first one to call me Jassy. You gave me hope, too. Why else would I rewrite your e-mail on this? :)

My prerogative.

That happened to me?!

... and Italy. I am going back and this time I'm bringing along a backpack. :)

Maybe I don't write as much but I still love my rainy Germantown days.


YLC helped me realize I shall accept myself for who I am. After camp, I wrote a lot about feeling I was different from others. That, and self-acceptance.

Delicious ambiguity. 

You know what they say. Life without rebellion is like seasons without spring.

My senior year, here I am.

You ended up loving being seventeen. :) 
(Age 17 or at any time in your life, love is nonsense. That's what makes it the most special thing in the world. Just sayin')