Flashbacks
a 22 year long indie film
A few weeks ago my sister and I drove to our old neighborhood. I always joke that my life is an indie film with no real plot, but the aesthetic is always pleasing and you’re curious enough to to stay till the end of the film. This moment was no different, but it truly wasn’t my fault that it was raining as we drove down the so ever familiar roads and A Beautiful Mine by RJD2 played on the background. The director’s cut would zoom in on my face the entire time as I took it all in, realizing I was closing a chapter I never closed.
I could picture my 14 year old self walking around my neighborhood again. The days of going to the corner store for red Faygo (Detroit represent!) and hot cheetos, of learning how to dress for the dead cold midwest winters, and the summer nights when I sneaked out to talk to boys late into the night (sorry mom and dad!).
This has been a regular occurrence in my life recently, I’ve been running into folks from different parts of my life, going to places that once meant something to me, and even listening to songs that take me back to other worlds. I told my therapist about it and she exclaimed, “it’s like you’re in a movie and you see the flashbacks to understand what’s happening today!” and I exclaimed back, “YES! but I’m the only one who’s watching the movie!”
To be fair, I have also forgotten some parts of the story. Some parts were so painful my brain didn’t want to remember them, but some of them were sweet too. There is no way to neatly fold 22 years into an envelope to never open it again. I would be lying to myself if I decide to seal the envelope and pretend I was never in this city even when I know I could.
But negating this place is part of my story means I would be denying the day I saw a bright yellow book1 at a church service I didn’t even want to go to and asked, “who is reading this book? Because we should become best friends!” and wouldn’t you know it? We did become best friends. Thank you
for the bright yellow book that changed my life!If I decide this place isn’t part of who I am, I would be saying all the times I went to my favorite bubble tea shop with my best friends and sat there for hours didn’t mean anything to me, and let me tell you, they meant the world.
If this city was to be forgotten, I would be forgetting all the times the “I’ll be at your house in 5 minutes” texts came through just for my friends to drop off flowers on a hard day.
And where does one store all the coffee dates? And the social distance picnics? And the first kisses? And the one time I won first place for my self-portrait? What about the time when my best friend sat with me in the darkness on the first birthday I had without my mom? Where do I keep all the times I couldn’t get up because my belly hurt and the tears fell from laughing?
Maybe I’ll store them in my jewelry box? or in my coat pockets to pull them out on a cold day? I don’t know that I have an answer. What I do know is this city is not my home, but this pit stop, though longer than I would’ve liked, gave me some of the best moments of my life too.
The next 22 years don’t have to be like the last 22 years. I’m reading the last pages of this book because I know it’s time for a new book, and that first chapter is already sweeter than a ripe mango in Latin America.
Jesus Feminist by Sarah Bessey has the best yellow bright cover
You are giving yourself a gift by reflecting on this place and these years. Thank you (as always) for sharing your gift with us too 🩵
Aw, I wasn't expecting to cry reading this, but I feel so much of this too. I am so excited for you to move on to the next book! It's an honor witnessing your growth.