There was this guy I had a big old crush on in high school. The "bad boy", the one who I thought was just "it". He was older than I was, pensive, rough around the areas, someone I so wanted to like me, and I wanted to impress. He told me that he wrote poems and all his thoughts down. I wanted to show him that I could be smart and "write from within" like he did. So fifteen-year-old Nay picked up a journal and started writing poetry. I remember writing, just letting it flow across the pages...
"blanket of darkness that were covered with white little ants"
I remember starting that poem and then it turning into something else.
My love for writing was inspired by trying to impress someone.
Someone who I never shared my writing with after all.
Someone that as fast as I started liking him, I started to not.
At 15 years old, I became a writer.
I filled pages with my days and nights.
I wrote about my feelings.
I wrote little stories.
I wrote without censor.
By the time I was 22, I had notebooks and journals that spoke about my life.
Taking trains through Boston
Working at coffee shops
Being in love
Out of love
Heartbroken once...twice...many times
Walking the steps of my ancestors in Machu Picchu
Sitting in Peruvian cafes and making up stories of the people around me
Feelings and memories of loss, redemption, triumph, joy
My own versions of truth
I inspired the only person who mattered.
I had those journals.
Note the word "had"...this means I no longer have them.
Last night I got so sad about throwing those journals away or losing them over the years.
I felt like a loser. Why would I discard all of those memories so easily?
I think at the time, I wanted to start my new life. The life of being a mom and wife.
My new leaf. No need to look back, just look forward.
I was wrong. I see that now.
Although I was saddened last night about it, I figured I've been "writing" and keeping new memories.
Since 2011, I've had a blog.
So that counts.
It counts a lot.
Years ago, I wanted to stop looking back.
Now I've realized something.
Sometimes you need to look back to move forward.
See how far you've come.
See that every experience you went through was for a reason.
For this moment.
For this time.
Hey Fifteen-Year-Old Nay,
You're still writing.
Good job, you.
Go check out Absolute Mommy's post.
I'm giving something away over there.
Hint: "What happens in Vegas..."