16 Things in 16 Years

Tomorrow, I'm sixteen. That feels really weird to say. See, over the years, I've heard and read and watched so much about this particular birthday. It's supposed to be a big one. You can drive! There are giant sweet sixteen parties! Dating and risks and new adventures! It's the age right on the cusp of childhood and adulthood; you have so many more liberties, but get to keep (most of) the luxuries and safeties that come with being a kid. This is the age of practically every teen rom-com in the history of ever. I remember being little and wondering who I'd be when I was sixteen. It just felt so far away, as real to who I was then as planets whose names I didn't know. I wondered how tall I'd be. Would I be dating someone? I thought about who my friends would be. Whether my hair would still be blonde, or would darken to brown like my mom's had. And, most importantly, I was curious whether or not my life's ambition would still be to paint coffee mugs and sell them in my driveway.

Well, I'm not too much taller than I was. My friends are poets and swimmers and theatre geeks and people I don't yet know. My hair is an awkward in-between blonde and brown color. My passport says blonde. My driver's permit (the one I don't need right now because I'm downright terrified of driving) says brown. I've had beautiful days and sad ones. There is no Sweet Sixteen on my calendar, though I'm really, really excited to go to my friend Janhavi's. I've lost people and loved people.

I no longer want to be a mug artist. Sorry, six-year-old Maya.

On birthdays, I wonder if my younger self would be proud of me. I hope she would be. I try to be who she needed, even though, sixteen years later, I remain uncertain of who exactly that is. I try to be kind. I try to be good. I try to color outside the lines every once in awhile. I write and I feel and I sleep way too few hours a night. I do oh so glamorous things like sewing elastic into waist bands of pants that are too big. I balance books on my head when I'm bored in English class. I'm messy and socially inept and figuring stuff out. And that last part? That's what I'm most proud of. Here's a little letter to my younger self. Here are sixteen things I've learned in sixteen years.

1. Let people show you who they are. It's best you push aside your immediate perceptions of a person. If you want to truly know someone, you have no place to say what they are and are not; that's their job. Yours is to sit back in a metaphorical overstuffed lavender chair and watch and listen. And do this in real life. You will grow close to people over screens and texts and it's just not authentic. I don't care if they can tell you their most vulnerable stories with emojis. Try to hear them. Try to see their eyes. Scrap the WiFi connection for human connection. 
2. Multiplication tables are hard. In the third grade, there will be a new, bright-smiled boy in your class who is very, very good at math. He will sit next to you in the back row, and you will find yourself trying to be good at math to simultaneously outdo and impress him. And it will suck. It's okay that you're terrible at multiplication in the third grade. It's okay that you were so behind everyone else that you never memorized your 12's. Tripping up is good. You know what's not good? Stressing yourself the heck out to impress someone else.
3.  
   
   You will fall in love more deeply than you could've imagined. You haven't been in a romantic relationship yet, which is totally cool. But you've absolutely fallen in love. You've fallen in love with the stage and the way life seems a little more vivid there. You've fallen in love with the way your little sister says 'pacifically' instead of 'specifically.' You will love your friends, and every time you see old pictures, you'll tear up a little because you miss that. And yes, you'll fall in love in the rom-com sense of the word. You won't ever even touch the hands of some of these people. You'll love them for their minds and their five-minute miles and their black crayon drawings. You'll lose some of them and it will rip you up. Love will be disconcerting and oddly embarrassing. But love doesn't have to be embarrassing. Love is all we are. 
4. We're all so, so lonely. Humans are community-oriented and mind-bound. In the words of Charles Dickens, who you will read a lot of and barely understand, "A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other." When you're lonely, call another person. Chances are, they're a little lonely, too. And don't be afraid to text or call or meet someone who went from stranger to friend and back again. Losing people is two-sided. Make eye contact with people. Smile. 
5.  
   
   You don't have to answer every single question. In fact, please don't. Your sixth grade social studies teacher will not call on you anymore when you raise your hand. He won't answer your questions. He'll call you Hermione, and you will (at the time) loathe him for it. But as it turns out, this will be one of the most important things you've learned in the American public school system. Stop taking everything so seriously. Stop slaving away over homework in the sixth grade. There is plenty of time (and lack thereof) for that in high school. Just try to enjoy things and take more risks and stop raising your hand so much. 
6. Offer kindness to everyone. Fourth grade will be an interesting time. You will be friends with a girl who loves gymnastics and wants to play on the monkey bars every day at recess. You won't like the bars too much. They will give you calluses and you won't be able to do any of the tricks she can. So you make a big deal about wanting to compromise and run around on the hill twice a week at recess, in addition to the bars. You'll think this is very important and very rational, and eventually, you and the girl will be in such an argument that a teacher has to be involved. This is when you'll learn the girl's mother has breast cancer. This is when you learn her home life is bad right now, and recess is one of the only times she has to be a kid and do what she loves. Be kind to everyone. Don't make something out of nothing. Everyone's fighting a battle you know nothing about.
7. It's okay to like "girly" things. Your mom has always loved shoes and clothes, but for the first thirteen years of your life, you refuse to go shopping with her. You say you hate pink and only want to wear athleisure. The truth is, your scared of being labeled a girly-girl, like that's a bad thing. You want to be "one of the boys." Sporty and perhaps, deep down, popular. Somehow, it gets into your mind that you're above "girly" things. Well, guess what, princess? You decide what is girly. You define who you are. You like whatever you want, and don't apologize for it. Being a strong girl in your skin is what you say it is, whether you're wearing Under Armour or not. 
8. Just put on a swimsuit. There were summer nights when you'd swim with Emily and Mitchell and eat Jimmy John's sandwiches during lifeguard breaks. You'd run around the neighborhood in the dark playing flashlight tag with Madeleine and Emma, Taylor and Dani, and eat s'mores. These were the best nights. But eventually, they'll stop. You decide you hate your body. No one should have to see you in a swimsuit; you shouldn't offend other people like that. You don't fit the mold for what a girl in a swimsuit should look like. And what age do you decide this? Eight. No swimsuits went hand in hand with less food and more exercise and less invitations to social gatherings. No swimsuits meant summer nights spent inside, and let me tell you - that's not where summer nights should be spent. 
9.  
   
   Go places. I'm talking vacations, weekend trips, new grocery stores, volunteer shifts, the parks behind your house... everything. Everywhere. New places and new people teach you a lot. For instance: you would never know throwing thirty-pound salmons over counters was a form of entertainment until you went to Seattle. You wouldn't know a wall plastered with bubblegum could be art. And those are extremely important things to know, now aren't they?
10. Art is what connects us, but it's also a total liar. Sometimes, we find ourselves in literature and in between brush strokes. Others, we are told what our lives should be and made to feel like we're falling behind. Love isn't as dazzling as the movies say; it's so much more than that. It's real. And when you're sixteen, it's okay that your skin isn't perfectly clear. It's okay that you spend Friday nights staring at random walls (though you should study for the PSAT-NMSQT, gosh darn it). You're not going to fall in love at first sight or leave behind a glass slipper. No one has any clue what they're doing. Life is messy and wobbly and scribbled all over the place. There is no escaping it. Reality is so much better than fiction. Don't believe everything Nora Ephron's films say, mkay? 
11.  
    
    When your mom tells you to wear a heavier coat, wear a heavier coat. This one is pretty self-explanatory. Your mother is always right. She's a superhero and always knows the exact number of layers you're going to need when you go out to build a snowman. One day, I hope I'll know her secret.
12. You're going to miss right now. You're going to miss leaning against the lockers sipping coffee with Lily. You're going to miss seeing movies with Lorelei and Liv, and watching jazz concerts with Savannah and Nicky and Adam and Cam and Megan. And you're going to miss the horrid days too, the ones sluggish with over-analyzing and tests and rich with grayness. "Looking back, we view/ our worst days/ with nostalgia" - Pablo Neruda. 
13.  
    
    Here's how to brew the perfect cup of tea: boil a fresh water in a kettle. Warm the teapot by rinsing it with hot water. Put a teaspoon (and one extra) of tea into the teapot, and pour the water from the kettle just before it comes to a true boil. Steep the tea for five minutes, strain the leaves, and enjoy. Tea is best served with good conversation, acrylic paints (not for eating...), and an open window. 
14. You are more privileged than you know. The fact that you didn't realize there were any fundamental differences between the rights granted to boys and girls until you were eleven is a miracle. The fact that you were born where you were, into a middle-class family, is a privilege. The fact that you were born without any physical disabilities gives you such an unjust advantage. Your skin color will make your life infinitely easier. The privilege you hold is immense, and is something not everyone has. You must recognize your privilege. It'll really hit you when you realize that, despite the fact that you and your sister have pretty much the same kind of life, you will have more privilege than her because you are white and she is Asian. It'll feel like the Ice Bucket Challenge you stupidly participated in during the fifth grade, except this time, the cold never really goes away. You must constantly check your privilege, recognize how fortunate you are, and use your place to help change the way our society works. 
15. Ask for help. October 10th may be your birthday, but it's also Global Mental Health Day. Funnily enough, the day before you turn 16, the day before Global Mental Health Day, will be the first time you'll be prescribed medication for Major Depressive Disorder and anxiety. You know it'll take a long time for the medication to start working, but you are prepared for that. You are tired of having dealt with this alone for four years. Asking for help is nothing to be ashamed of; on the contrary, it is the scariest, bravest thing you can do. Life isn't meant to be sad. You're going to get pretty good at helping other people, and you're going to realize you consistently fail to grant yourself that same courtesy. You live this day, you live this life, once. Don't you dare go it alone. 
16.  
    
    Living is a brave thing. In the last sixteen years, I've felt like evaporating more than once. Being hurts. No one teaches you how to hurt like this, or how to deal with it. No one teaches you how to win in life. No one tells you the world isn't as copper-penny bright as you thought it was - you get the horror of discovering that on your own. You are bent double with the weight of things you don't want to carry, and your eyes are glassy, and you are living. And, man... that's so brave of you. You're still going and you are going to plant gardens someday. I am so proud of you.

Honorable Mentions: 1) Just give up on roasting chicken, please - it is always dry when you cook it. 2) Practice for your piano lessons so that one day, you can play Hedwig's Theme like the nerd you are. 3) Don't write blog posts at 11 o'clock the night before big AP World History Tests ;)

Love always, 

Maya

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