Dear Kaitlin,
Let’s start small: I’m sitting at my desk in Baltimore. It’s piled full of books I’ve been reading for classes: stacks of novellas and chapbooks, a linguistics textbook, and a handful of children’s books. Beside me is an oven-safe ceramic; within it sits a raw, frozen chocolate croissant, ready to thaw and rise while I sleep. There’s a picture hanging on the far side of my desk — my roommates and I at an escape room.
On the wall, I’ve made a little collage: images of home at dusk; pages of old books stamped with leaf prints from Etsy; and a Rumi quote from Ms. Marina, your middle school arts teacher, that reads: “Respond to every call that excites your spirit.” There’s also that little card you found on a beach trip with mom, on it, a line from Paulo Coelho: “One is loved because one is loved / No reason is needed for loving.” I’ve tried to arrange it so that these prints look like they’re falling from one corner of the ceiling down the white wall.
Hanging up there, I also have a small postcard of a cobbled street in Trastevere, Rome (yes, you go to Italy; yes, it’s better than you can imagine, but not for the reasons you think). A lighthouse in Delaware, too — gifted from my freshman year roommate (you’re going to have a great time living together). There’s more memorabilia, but I’ll leave it to you to find the rest.
This past week has not been easy. I’ve been more tired than not, but I’ve done my best to keep hopeful — a skill I owe to you. After a series of long days, I have finally done my groceries. I roasted chicken and potatoes for lunch today and finished my readings in time for a respectable amount of rest. In doing so, I’m breaking my downward trajectory and trying, for the umpteenth time, to build better habits. The reason I mention this, the reason I want you to see not the whole path ahead but this one evening, is because I need you to remember that there will be many endings; some will be small, some larger. It is not about what has happened, but what happens after – how you start again.
Sometimes, when I wonder what I’m doing and why, I remember your love for story. You’d dissolve into books, then music, shows and movies. A narrative was a life that mattered simply because someone said it did. Stories felt miraculous in how conflicts found resolution, characters experienced growth, meaning was always made. Fiction, you taught me, is an assertion of life.
I’ve written poems for you. As you know, you did not write poetry for a very long time. I’ve tried to find some of the words I think you would’ve liked to hear, but most fall short.
I can say that I remember what it was like to be you, but in truth I remember only half of it. I reach backward to the feeling of drowning and I stop. But it doesn’t take recollection for me to remember your grit. It’s the task of a lifetime to learn to hope, and you are doing it. By simply being here, you are doing it. You’re holding more than anyone could possibly carry and, eventually, you will learn to put some of it down.
There’s a lot you have yet to experience, and know that much of it is good. Push for one day, and then another, and another — and soon, those days will become a lifetime. Know that I am proud to have come from you.
Inspired by one of mom’s many musical recommendations, I’ve fallen down a bit of a nineties R&B rabbit hole tonight. SWV’s “Rain” is playing through one earbud. I can hear my housemate washing her dishes in the kitchen. I’ll read a book tonight, something I haven’t been assigned. Tomorrow, I’ll get an early start, eat my chocolate croissant, make myself a chai latte and write something.
Take good care of yourself.
With love,
Kaitlin
Kaitlin Tan is a junior from Manila, Philippines majoring in Writing Seminars and Cognitive Science. She is a Magazine Editor for The News-Letter.
