Blog #39: To all the homies

To all the homies,

If you’re reading this, I love you. Have I told you that in a while? I swear I’m not trying to be sappy, I just think I don’t tell you enough.

Thank you for all the times you let me sit in your car and vent about my complicated thoughts and feelings. For checking in on me when there’s been radio silence between us for too long. For supporting my dreams and making me feel so smart, strong, and important. For helping me see myself in a good way, in the way you always do. 

When I think about memories of us, it brings a smile to my face. Whether it was a week or 5+ years ago, quality time with you is always memorable. Thank you for all the times you made me laugh until I cried. And let me cry on your shoulder. And trusted me enough to see you cry. Although I can’t remember every detail, I never forget the way you make me feel when I’m around you.

Moments with you are like little capsules, when the world stops and my problems feel much lighter. Time moves so fast, yet we find a way to slow it down. Whether we’re enjoying a yummy meal, running errands, or frolicking in a forest, it doesn’t really matter. We could be sitting in a room watching paint dry and somehow find a way to make it a colorful time. I love that about us.

I’m especially grateful that we’re the kind of friends who can always pick up where we left off, like no time passed at all. That’s helpful when you’re someone who gets easily stuck in their own world. My world feels a little less complete when we spend long times apart, but that’s okay. I guess we both have to experience some things on our own, so we always have good stories to keep each other entertained.

In the moments when I’m completely exhausted and feel like giving up, I glance at my calendar and remember that I always have something to look forward to. Whether we have plans or are yet to make them, your friendship gives me hope. Thank you for motivating me when you don’t even realize it. 

Maybe these sentiments feel like they’re coming out of left field. I can explain…

A few weeks ago I learned that a friend of mine died unexpectedly. His name was Aldo. He was my age. I can’t overstate how much potential he had left to share with the world. He was a first-gen college graduate at the beginning of a very successful career. He was a shining light for his family and entire community. He was also a good friend.

Do you remember where you were, summer after COVID hit? Well I was online, with a group of other 20-somethings with dreams of becoming leaders in the communities we hailed from. We were selected for a competitive policy fellowship. UC Berkeley was supposed to host us, but thanks to the pandemic we got booted back into Zoom University. That’s where I first met Aldo. 

I wish I could say that we eventually got to meet in real life. Instead, our entire friendship was over video calls and text conversations. We would barely miss each other in passing. Always in the same places at different times. He promised me that we would finally meet in person, that 2024 was our year. But the first time we shared physical space was at his funeral. I can’t seem to shake that gloom off of me. 

The grief I experience for Aldo is distinct from the grief I’ve experienced for 7 years now. I grieve for the many things I never got to experience with my friend, and for the many milestones he never got to reach. I’m also reminded that I am not immune to death, even as a young person. That one of my biggest fears is dying before I reach my fullest potential. That life can be painfully unfair, with no explanation at all. 

It’s fucked up that you never know when the last conversation will be with someone. I don’t want to have regrets about that when it comes to us. I don’t want to sit on plans we promise to make but never keep. I don’t want to pass up an opportunity to tell you how much you mean to me, because you really are special. 

While I can spend a long time reflecting on untapped potential, I rather live in this moment with you. I don’t think I’ll regret as much if I just live. My grief, my open wound, is a reminder that we have nothing to wait for. The time is now and the creative portal is opening. I’d love to seize this moment together.

If there’s something good you’ve been waiting to manifest in your life, I encourage you to leap into your power with me. Personally, I have dreams of creating EE sticker art, writing a book, starting my own nonprofit, and creating a farm-to-table food truck/community garden/outdoor cooking class. What are some things you want to manifest? How can we support each other, and keep each other accountable? What if we could have everything we ever wanted, and it all started here?

Life can get really dark and unbearable sometimes. And afterwards, life always moves on to something lighter. Our challenge exists in that spiral of unknowns, chaos, and constant change. There’s not a “right” way to find stability, but something that’s healed me is living my life in honor of those who’ve passed. I’m grateful for moments of reflection like this, when the lowest lows move me to exist with more intention, to love even deeper.

So please take it to heart when I tell you:

Thank you for being in my life. The experiences we’ve shared are inherently a part of me. You are a part of me. I’m grateful that the stars aligned for us to help each other along our life journeys, no matter what stage we were in or are yet to be. I’m always wishing you success beyond measure, and happiness that heals your soul. You’re a real one. ;)

Your friend always,

Maya