I miss the girl who would write her heart out every single time. She loved to write poems about her crush who she thought she fell in love with. She would write about how much she loves her friends and how much she greatly appreciates them, and how thankful she is to God for giving her wonderful people in her life. She would write prose about her daily struggles. She would just write.
While writing, she would imagine herself doing great things. A writer, an educator, a motivational speaker, a whatnot her heart can imagine.
She could read books all day and all night. She would cancel her plans with friends because she’s engrossed with the book she’s currently reading. She would read different genre and would learn a thing or two about physics or cooking or romance or medieval era.
She enjoyed her time alone, so much so that she does not want to leave her own shell.
I love her but I wished she’d be a little more open to other things.
I guess that’s why present is very different from past.
She can speak herself. In fact, she became so confident she sometimes forgets that her words can hurt other people. She can be an extravert that likes to speak to different kind of people. She still gets nervous but can now carry herself while in front of an audience, or the big people. I think she has finally learned to believe in herself.
But there are days that she became so obsessed with present that she forgets her past.
Now she’s feeling ill, at least psychologically.
She’s laughing so hard. She can deliver good jokes. She works efficiently. She can do things and she’ll do things.
But before she closes her eyes to sleep, she misses her old self.
That girl who write, who read, who dreams.
To her surprise, going to her roots isn’t as easy as it used to be.
It’s okay to grow, but honey, please remain true to yourself.