Nostalgia. Reminiscing. All things that come with being a senior and experiencing a semester of lasts. Lasts can be emotional and difficult to comprehend, but they can also create hope and excitement for change. So, let us remember when I was a tot with bleach blonde hair and an angsty teen doing everything except for what my mother told me to do. Because that is all that is getting me through the chaos of my last few weeks as a student. While life is the present and future, it never hurts to smile back at the past.
One of my fondest childhood memories is family events or holidays. We always hosted at my childhood home, and I adored having everyone under one roof. I would set name tags out, assigning seats to each family member, and would bask all day in the excitement of getting to hang out with my cousins later. I just knew a killer dance routine was about to be made while wearing an equally killer princess costume. I think especially as a child of divorce, I find myself missing those days a little extra. While I love my life currently, don’t we always long for what we cannot have?
The dance studio. God, do I miss those days. How I would die to go back in time and smack myself for complaining about the long hours I spent in that windowless building. Some of my favorite people, to this day, I met at dance. Some of my happiest times were spent at that studio. Also, some of my saddest were spent there. But thats the joy in it all. Everything happened at the dance studio, good and bad, and I had my bestest friends and role models there to pick me up every time something went wrong. While dance has been an entirely other experience in college, nothing will ever quite compare to Culture Shock on 3rd Street, and that ratty old maroon carpet in the dressing room.
My baby brother, who is not much of a baby anymore. My brother and I have a very. . . unique relationship. We talk to each other very little and have recently deemed we have literally nothing in common, except for the fact that we share parents and have the same Chinese takeout order. Where he says one word an hour, I can’t seem to shut up. Where he has dark features, I have light. Where he is codependent, I would do everything for myself if possible. Get the point? If it were not for the fact that we look exactly like our parents, I would think one of us is adopted. All of that being said, I adore my brother, which I never really tell him. He is everything I am not, in the best way, and I envy him for that. While I would not change a thing about our dynamic, I hope he always realizes how much I love him, no matter how little we may say it.
From my first tattoo, to my most recent, I cannot imagine a day where I will regret getting them. I often feel invisible, like no one truly knows me. And while this is at my own expense, it does not change those feelings. Tattoos make me feel heard, or at least like I am attempting to be heard. It’s like journaling but somehow even more effective, I guess because it is permanently on my body. I never would have thought tattoos would become such an addiction, but here I am, constantly dying to get more. Constantly dying to express myself.
My parents are the best. I have said it once and I will say it a million more times. As individuals, they are all people I would be extremely grateful to grow up like. My dad has put his everything into being a father, and I mean everything. There is not one single doubt in my mind he would jump in front of a car, go bankrupt, or lose his home all to take care of my brother and I. I hope everyone gets to experience a love like that one day. My mom is one of those people that was born to be a mother. I would know, she somehow successfully raised me. She is kind, but still sticks up for herself. She is humble and always knows the right things to say. Anytime I need a word of advice or just a push in the right direction, I call my mom. Everyone needs an Amy in their life, especially as a mom. Now Jen, my bonus parent, is the irrational devil on my shoulder I have always needed. She evens out my mom like peanut butter does to jelly and is always my biggest supporter when I have a crazy idea. Being the oldest sibling, I am so thankful to have Jen on my side for all of my “stupid” ideas.
From my first dance class at age three to my six foot baby brother that really makes me realize how old I am getting, I would not change a thing about the last 21 years. I am unapologetically myself, even at my worst, and I am proud of that. I may not be my best self always, but I am constantly working towards her. Reminiscing on the past makes me realize just how far I have come and that is something no one can ever take away from me. ‘Tis the damn season of a new season of life.
Gabby