I Learned But I Did Not Grow

2020 was a year unlike any other. Everyone in the world shared in each other's pain as we faced a global pandemic while each was struggling with their own troubles. I, of course, am no exception to this. Covid-19 hit during my senior year, causing me to miss out on some incredible milestones such as graduation, prom, and my freshman year of college. The isolation took a toll on my mental health, as it did many others. On top of these struggles, I faced the unimaginable as my mother was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia and devastatingly passed away in August. Indeed, 2020 was a year unlike any other.

I think it's fair to say that I learned during this crazy year. I learned of real heartbreak, watching the person I love most slip away from a severe disease. I learned about true friendship as some of my closest friends left me during this challenging chapter of my life. Others- my most remarkable and best friends- stayed around to carry me when I could not stand. And most importantly, I learned that family is not defined by blood as I watched my community rally around me. Family is defined by smiles, and hugs, and laughter. It's the neighbors who take you prom dress shopping when your mom can't. It's the friends who have movie marathons with you when you're feeling down. Family is not just your dad and your sister and your brother. It's everyone who shares in your joys and sorrows. These are the greatest lessons I will learn.

While I think it's fair to say I learned a lot this year, I am not entirely confident that I have grown. It would be a magnificent story, I know, to say that I became a better person, that I saw the bright side in everything and have indeed found my peace in all that happened. I wish that were the story I could tell.

Instead, I face the fact that heartbreak cannot be healed even by the most significant lessons. I see no takeaway from what happened to my mom and to my family. I see only an empty chair at our dinner table that can never be filled again. I still feel angry and sad and isolated. Every day, I still feel like it's that rainy day in August. The truth is that the pain never really goes away; it just becomes bearable enough to function.

So how does this all connect to a fresh start? Well, after six months, I think it's finally time to grow. It will be a slow burn, but I'm ready to tell that remarkable story of how I rose out of the ashes stronger than before. I'll start small: drinking more water, eating more fruit, reading more books. Self-care is the most important place to begin, I believe. I won't be able to grow until I've fed my soul and my heart.

I'll look forward. I'm preparing to head away to university. Renting my first apartment, paying tuition, and applying for scholarships is just the start of this extraordinary journey ahead of me. I'll make new friends, fall in love, break my heart a few more times, learn and teach. I'll have so much space to reflect and thrive. The person I'm meant to be is waiting for me.

I'll look back, too. I'll reflect on my experiences and where they brought me. I take all those lessons I learned from the heartbreak and apply them like glue to my brokenness. I'll focus on my songwriting; I'll let the music tell my story. And with great perseverance and struggle, I'll write everything down. I'll keep a memoir of my 18th year, and I will let its contents define my 19th.

In 2021, I will tell the story of the girl who grew, the girl who found the strength within herself to start again. To move forward. To make mistakes. To learn. I'll feel my mother with me as I explore the world she so loved. I'll travel to the cities we talked about. I'll do everything she never could and experience everything she did. I'll tell the story she wanted me to. 2021 will be a year unlike any other.