Dear... Eighth Grade Me
I wish I could’ve been there for you. I wish I could’ve been the shoulder to cry on. You moved to a new country, and left the tiny rock with everything you knew. It was tough, but you were tougher, whether you showed it or not. I wish you knew not to be scared about finding friends, and to pick up the courage to join the sports team. I wish I could’ve told you to believe in yourself, and to not let one grade make you cry.
One mistake doesn’t define you. I wish you weren’t so insecure about how you looked, and how you wore your hair, because trust me, you looked great. I should’ve been there to tell you not to like the guy that would humiliate you without you even knowing it. I wish I could’ve been there to tell you not to be an airhead and not even notice the guy who liked you for you, and saw the girl underneath the nervous face she had when no one else did. I wish I was there to reassure you that it would go away when it was too late.
But here we are. Freshman year. You’d be so proud of yourself, wearing your hair down, smiling out of nowhere, not caring how bad you sound with your instrument, playing on the team. You’ve found the friends who’ll stick with you through thick and thin. That boy, well, I suppose we’ve found someone just as good, but never say never... You’re not afraid to show your passion for sports and art, and you’re on your way to being a budding photographer and tennis player.
That nervous girl who walked through the halls with her head down low, scared to meet his eyes, scared to make a mistake and crumble, scared of failure, is gone. She’s proud, happy, and not afraid to be herself.