032711/time capsule

March 27, 2011

To my 30-year-old self,

I don’t know if, ten years from now, you’ll remember the day of your twentieth birthday. But here’s what you should know: that day, it was raining. That day, you went and got sushi with a couple of good friends and explored a part of San Francisco you’ve never been to before. That day, in English 214, you’re professor taught you something important; that when you’re young, you have all the time in the world to accomplish everything you want to accomplish, but as you grow older, time moves faster. After two decades of living, you understood, at that moment in your English 214 class, that it was no longer time to wait for the future to come—it was time to take charge of the future and make it everything you wanted it to be.

So, the first thing you went and did to mark your hopes for the future was get your first tattoo, the one on your right wrist. Do you remember what it stands for, and why you got it? Ka, the bridge, the understanding that everything and everyone is connected in some way. You got it because you understood that connection, and you felt it always important to keep that piece of information in mind. You also got it so that you could become the bridge. You found your passion in community organizing and helping others, and you knew that in such an environment, it was important to make solid connections with others. By permanently marking yourself with ka, and by putting it on your right arm (the arm you use to shake hands with when meeting new people) there was no way you could ever forget that.

You also told yourself that you would make San Francisco your home. You would live in the Sunset, the Excelsior, or the Mission, and there you would help the community by helping the youth of the community. You, who had found what she was looking for in Ethnic Studies, wanted to spread that knowledge to others, who needed to know the truth. You wanted to take a place that didn’t have much hope and give it everything.

And while you were working to help others, you planned to go to graduate school, to attain your master’s in Ethnic Studies. You weren’t sure what you would do with the degree, but you knew that having it would help you out somehow later on. You knew that your education would not end after just four years, and you made it a point to be the first in your family to get your master’s (and maybe even your doctorate).

Then, you saw yourself leaving the Bay, to learn more about communities similar to your own. You decided that you wanted to go to Hawaii because of your family’s roots there. You wanted to better understand what they went through growing up there. You also wanted to better understand the history of the islands, the struggles of the islanders, and how you could turn things around for them. You wanted to bring ethnic studies to Hawaii.

But Hawaii wasn’t the only place you wanted to go. You saw yourself living in Brooklyn, maybe New Orleans, then visiting Seattle, Washington DC, Chicago, and Georgia. You knew for sure that you would somehow make it to the Philippines, to see the farm Nanay and Tatay left behind. You would also learn more about your Dad’s family history, a history that you have found difficult to obtain.

You decided you would become fluent in Tagalog and Spanish, two languages you felt you needed to know to reach out to others, to become that bridge. You would continue to work at your poetry and spoken word. And you dreamed of writing a very important book, a story about the struggles of a modern-day Filipino family, a novel that would change mainstream America’s conceptions of Filipina and Filipina American womyn.

All of this, you dreamed of accomplishing when you were only twenty years old. So, thirty-year-old me, looking back at the past ten years of your life, what of these things have you accomplished? Even if they weren’t included in this letter, what strides have you made? Of course, ten-year plans are meant to be changed as life goes on, but have you stayed true to who you are and what you believe in? Do you still believe in ka?

I hope this letter doesn’t find you troubled, because you were unable to get to most of these goals, or you forgot. Instead, I hope that you see this letter and gain some sort of perspective from hearing from your twenty-year-old self and what she believed in. Or, maybe you were able to accomplish everything and more, and your twenty-year-old self got it all right. Either way, I hope that you are healthy, happy, and you take time for yourself. I love you dearly and I only hope the best for you.

Love always,

20-year-old you