coffee with my younger self
cliff walk at pourville, claude monet
it’s a thing on tiktok right now to write scenarios about meeting up with your younger self for coffee. i’m not gonna act high and mighty and say that i don’t normally do trends (i am easily influenced after all). after a few of the same tiktoks, i wondered how it would be if i had coffee with myself from ten years ago.
last saturday, i had lunch with friends from high school. we’re all in our 20s now. all of us work. looking back at things that happened ten years ago feels strange. to us, it felt like it was just yesterday. the tumult of high school; the curse of wanting to fit in so terribly badly, the now-joy of realising that “fitting in” was overrated and that we’re ultimately glad we stuck to the little circles we had. fitting in meant getting into petty fights and conforming to the unquestioned majority (even if they were questionable).
i don’t think things were as bad as my younger self thought. it was certainly similar to that goob from meet the robinson’s scene where everyone said hi but he was like everyone hated me! lol.
but anyways, what would it be like if i had coffee with 15 year old misha?
if we met at a cafe, what would my younger self order?
she’d probably order a sweet drink with whipped cream.
i’d order a coffee. brewed and black, the same way my parents take it.
she’d tell me she hates her school. there’s this girl she’s been crushing on since seventh grade (she rejected her, but she still likes her). math is hard.
i tell her that we graduate college. we make it past eighteen. we befriended the girl she liked, but things fell apart in the summer between grades 11 and 12. we have more friends than she could imagine. work is hard, but the money’s fine.
i tell her names she doesn’t recognise. 15 year old misha hasn’t met gabby, or moi, or carmen, or enna, or camille. sofia and aria are strangers to her. she doesn’t yet know nessy and julia and nicole and cali, or even nisa from malaysia. but maurice is there, the first name mentioned.
there will be relief on her face. eighth grade was hard. maurice and i get turned against each other briefly, but we make it through the end.
through the end? yes, through the end. through grade school and tumultuous junior high school. through senior high school spent apart, and college yet again spent apart. we’re going to my godfather’s farm together on good friday this year.
she’ll recognise jade and martha and smile. so we make it out with other friends after all.
but there is no mention of her other current best friend. she won’t ask. i think she knows the reason why.
i’ll show her my tattoos. she’s always wanted one.
she’ll ask me about grandma and a-ma and auntie sol.
i can only look.
we’ll both cry, i’m sure. for what are we, if not a grandmother’s girl?
i’ll tell her picasso is still here. he’ll be fifteen this year, the same age she is now. he totters along like an old man, but he’s still strong. he’s become a nag. nagging when i take too long to fix his food—take too long to get him ready for bed. he’s calmer now, less barking at strangers, but he still bites, even though he’s got seven teeth less.
she’ll look relieved, i think, that her childhood dog has become an adulthood dog.
she’ll ask if i have someone in my life.
i’ll tell her there’s none (she’ll sigh, probably). we’re still into kpop at the big age of 25. but we still like jazz.
we go to concerts now, though.
do we still watch dan and phil?
not as often, but sometimes we do.
our drinks will get cold (hers will get warm). i’ll ask for a sweet treat.
she’ll look at me funny.
i’ll tell her we’re still working on getting better. the number on the weighing scale is still scary, but the world will not end if we have a slice of cake. i’ll ask her to share.
she will.
i’ll tell her that one piece is still ongoing, but haikyuu has ended. i’ll tell her i’m still shameless in my hobbies; in my love for the things i like. who gives a shit if i have a kpop boy and a little doll hanging from my bag?
she’ll wonder where i get my confidence.
i’ll tell her i got it from her. who else was unashamed in high school? who wore her trafalgar law hoodie to school and her tardis necklace? who was relentless in promoting a wattpad book and reading in class; posted pictures of cosplay on facebook? who believed that as long as maurice was there, things would be alright?
who am i, if not someone who bloomed from the girl who protected and fanned that little flame of confidence that kept me from breaking down in junior high school?
i can’t picture her reaction. she doesn’t know about that flame yet; how important it is to me that she was so true to herself. how important she is to me, even though she thinks she’s not worth a second thought (she’s worth the world).
there will be no words of courage when we part. i’ll give her a hug that she needs and she’ll give me a hug that i need.
our plates and cups are clean. for the first time in a while, she’ll forget about the calories or the fact that her thighs touch (she’ll look at me, all 5kgs heavier than she is, but happier without the guilt looming over my head every time i eat, and think that maybe it’s okay to eat normally). and not for the first time, i’ll laugh and say something silly about how nice it is to be fifteen again.
ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚
a song as always.
i had a social weekend. i had dinner last friday, then a lunch on saturday, and then i went to chinatown with my friends on sunday. the day before yesterday, i had a six-hour catch up call with maurice.
it made me think about how angry i used to be. at how much i longed for friends because i was so lonely. and now i do. it’s strange how life works.
also, junior high here is grades 7-10 & senior high is 11-12. our curriculum is a little strange. everything past 6th grade was high school. we didn’t have middle school.
i also made an instagram! you can go check me out here: @misuabowl.
thanks for reading as always!