February 9, 2023: Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and Other Themed Greetings for the Holidays I Missed
Itâs been a while since I last wrote to you. I know I say that every time I send a letter out, but unfortunately, it's always true. It's so much harder to find the drive to write, especially when Iâve associated the act with adolescent grief. Words were all I had when I was a child. A few life stages later, I have so many more things to hold on to. And hold on to them I do.
A lot of life-changing things happened last year, but here's the supercutâI got my own place in Quezon City and moved out of my childhood home for the first time ever. I got my dream job in an FMCG. I was earning more than I had any right earning. I was making grown-up decisions. On paper, these all looked good, right? It felt good, for a while. And then it didn't. And then I was so miserable I just wanted to run.
Do you know how devastating it is to work so hard for a dream, only to one day get there and realize the picture never fit in the frame? Since then, I've been second-guessing everything. For someone who's always been guided by her yearning, I was in a limbo of shame.
So I escaped to the other side of the world. I thought that soaking up the California sun would make me feel better. Surely a change in scenery would be grounding, right? And it did feel good, but again, only for a while. And then it didn't. After a month and a half, I packed my bags, went home to the Philippines, and rotted in Boracay. Such a beautiful place for such an ugly feeling.
"Wherever you go, there you are." Wherever I went, there the fuck I was. How humiliating to have so much and still yearn for something more. Half present in milestones, yet still pushing your boulder up the hill.
I never believed in setting intentions for the new year. I didn't want to set myself up for even more disappointment (a feeling familiar to ever discontent me). But I read this beautiful Barbara Crooker poem and figured I needed to do something new.
So even though the prize-winning envelope has someone elseâs name on it, I sit at my desk and begin.
This year, Iâm going to rediscover my love for reading, for writing, for sewing, for creating music. I want to return to the starry-eyed, 16-year-old version of me. I want to start doing things for her again. I'm tired of the 20s rat race, the life insurances, the fucking crypto talk. I guess in the back of my mind, I always knew that kind of life wasn't for me, but I wanted in anyway. That's the curse of adulthoodâsometimes you want things just because you're told to want them, afraid of missing out on the grand, packaged experience of growing up. Sometimes you work toward goals just to prove to the people around you that you can get there. I was there and I know better. What a scam it all is.
So, friend, if you're going to take anything from this letter, I hope it's the reminder that happiness will only exist on your terms, and fulfillment doesn't have to look good to anyone else other than yourself.
E-sending you my love and light, Dei







