Let me set the scene.
I'm lying in bed, tissue box in close reach, trying to remember
what it was like to not be sick.
Switching between scribbling
in my diary and expressing
my thoughts and feelings in the margins of my new favourite book, trying
to write down and capture
every new understanding, new perspective,
all before I forget.
And become the person I do not want to be, again.
I'm in a state of reflection and growth.
I'm in a constant battle with the idea of perfection.
I can now understand that self-awareness comes with the grave consequence
of self-realization.
Will I achieve self-actualization?
What does that look like?
Is it possible?
Am I worthy? After everything I've witnessed, thought, felt, and done.
Who determines that worth? Is it me, you, them, or him?
So, Billie Eilish's "No Time to Die"
and Lana Del Rey's "Young & Beautiful" loop
in the background, making everything that much more profound.
I zone out - thinking about the reality of having an old, tortured
yet romantic soul
in an era filled with superficiality.
I regain focus - thinking about my longing for summer,
a desire created from its association with love. See, once October hits I hibernate looking for comfort in a mate.
A mate who happens to be a good talker
but understands me.
Because that's all I have the energy for
until it's summer again.
See, in the summer I can love again.
Love him. Love life.
Love myself.
As I typed 'myself' I repeatedly misspelled it,
as if it couldn't be true.
Writing this I fill up on self doubt
wondering if I will ever gain the courage
to share myself with them
Completely.
I get frustrated,
thinking about how to tell my truth
in a lighthearted manner.
Again, my mind goes to summer
spending time with my family and friends
and finally swimming in the salt water again.
I have always been such a show-off
About how good I was at treading water
my whole life.
I grew up a quick sprint to the water
during a few points of my life.
And now I constantly long
for those destinations and many more.
Destinations where I'm a sprint away from treading water again.
Cause otherwise I'm drowning.
Simultaneously identifying with the character drowning and the character making the waves.
What are we all really drowning in?
In self-doubt?
Guilt?
Shame?
Loneliness?
I apologize, (sometimes)
sometimes when the unanswered questions
begin to form,
it's hard to snap back into reality.
The reality that the cruel history of our world
repeats itself,
wearing a new facade
each slimmer!
and shinier! then the next.
I play my part in the charade
just like everybody else.
Will I continue to neglect myself to do so?
When I'm meant to be healing.
Will I achieve this seemingly artificial idea of peace with oneself?
When I do nothing but criticize myself.
Will I ever forgive myself for the
person I used to be?
Put her on the shelf next to the little girl with
enough sparkle in her eye
to make even Toronto feel bright?
Well, I'll just lie here
fantasizing?
Romanticizing?
Idealizing?
Until that day comes.
Be kind,
Evangeline.
This prologue is an introduction to future themes of my poetry, enjoy! My letter to you and to myself.
