second year priya desai

To my teenage self: on April 24th, you will die. Even to me, you will be missed.

I won’t deny it; I’ve never hated anyone more than you — but sometimes I worry you might just have been the most authentic, unabashed, version of me. You made mediocre art, formed some of the most rewarding friendships someone could hope for, and you learned how to take up space in the lives of others. Sometimes I think you were the best of me: the most sincere, the one with the greatest capacity for joy and delight.

No, you weren’t perfect, by any length. When you die, I imagine your best qualities will be amplified and immortalized, the flaws airbrushed away. Isn’t it funny how that works? You were mean to your mom, full of self-loathing, and often obsessed with becoming someone else.

To my teenage self: I’m sorry that some people were cruel to you… but I imagine that you were also cruel to others. You wore many faces, as a teenage girl does, but only some of them looked good on you.

To my teenage self: my therapist invites me to think about you with love and compassion, the same unreciprocated compassion you often gave to those around you. It’s never come easily, but maybe more so the closer we get to your death. After all, you formed your own opinions, your own moral code, your own interests and hobbies. You pierced your nose! Dyed your hair pink! I know I didn’t see it then, but with the news of your impending death, I think you might just be the coolest person I’ve ever known.

To my teenage self: I miss you already. I can’t imagine being twenty, have never imagined myself at twenty. It scares me, thinking about all the time ahead of me, even though I believe I was only ever meant to exist as a teenage girl. I can’t imagine living without you—although, I guess I never will. You’ll always be a part of me, taking up space, reminding me of every lyric to a Taylor Swift song, or how to make a collage, or how to be vulnerable with myself.

To my teenage self: thank you.

A Eulogy to my Teenage Self