i met my younger self for coffee today
I met my younger self for coffee today.
She was five minutes on time. I was beating the clock, two minutes late. She smiles with a hint of annoyance, probably wondering why I was rushing, when the cafe was just below our home.
She ordered a matcha latte. I ordered a chai. The sun was setting, and we couldn’t bother ourselves with the caffeine in the coffees. We both take a sip and enjoy the silence, looking at the window and see the orange hues of the sky. She looks at my drink with a raised eyebrow and asks, “Since when have you been drinking chai?” I smile and shake my head. If I tell her now, she’ll ruin her surprises.
She was wearing her usual black dress, the one we both wear when we want to look cute, but can’t bother to put in the effort. I was wearing my running skirt and sports bra. One look at my outfit, and one look at hers, and we give each other a knowing smile. Despite the years, some things haven’t changed. We still love our little black dresses, and we still love running.
Her hair is brown with the highlights emphasizing her curls. My highlights have grown out, and my black hair has grown since the last time I went here. I learned to embrace my roots shortly after leaving my homeland. She doesn’t notice how my hair has grown black, and I don’t point it out.
She asks me if I’m still doing obstacle course races. I tell her we’ve moved on to running long-distance races. We found a safe space with our foot moving one step in front of the other, letting our thoughts go blank when we’ve done nothing but try to run away from them. She smiled, remembering how we first fell in love with it, and glad we’re still pursuing the things we love. I don’t tell her about the personal records, the new routes, and the new people we started running with. She’ll find out running was the thing that has kept her going, and it’s one of the few stable things she’ll keep doing.
She sighs in accepted defeat that she won’t leave this place, and she’s fine with that. Her dream of traveling in Europe will remain a dream, and she doesn’t look at her fate with resentment, just bits of longing from time to time. I tell her we now live on the other side of the world, and all her little longings — witnessing the aurora lights, sitting under willow trees, and spending a day at the park after work, running freely and taking skinny dips, are now realities. Her eyes widen. I don’t tell her when or where, but it was enough to see her eyes light up again. It’s a wish against what reality has shown her, but she’ll find out very soon that God controls the reality she lives in, if she lets Him.
She wonders when she’ll publish a book. Cowriting is a huge achievement, she insists. But there is still this longing of publishing her own work, and saying “I am a writer.” I don’t tell her we have a poetry book. I smile at my secret — we’ve ghostwritten children’s books, and now we’re diving into non-fiction and trying again for children’s books. She’ll find out how her little hobbies will turn into something bigger, but she has to unfold the story herself. I tell her not to give up just yet, God will honor her writing. But always in His timing. That’s where the best stories take place.
She doubts if she’ll find a man who has similar passions as her and loves God despite it all. She tells me about this guy, with a “he’s a Christian!” conviction, with the slightest tics giving her away. She hides the narcissistic jokes, the questionable photos, and other comments she doesn’t sit well with. I smile. She has to learn to wait a little longer. I don’t tell her she got the man and only left her later. I don’t tell her about the forced romanticism of the dullest moments. I don’t tell her about the heartbreak, or the drunk messages. I don’t tell her how we found someone who’s pursuing God because that’s the only way to pursue us. Some things, she has to learn on her own. And she will.
I thank her for the time. She thanks me for the stories. We share a hug, a sign of comfort, thankfulness, and excitement for what’s to come. She doesn’t know it yet, but all her unspoken dreams are coming true.
I hope I meet her for coffee again.
