Letter to My 13-Year Old Self

When I look back at my 7th grade picture in my school yearbook, I want to croak. The wildly, tight curly hair. The zits on my forehead. Strange body. Uneven skin tone. I cringe when I look at pictures from back then. I felt so awkward and ugly that I hid from the camera the following year. In fact, it was like I didn't exist because there was NOT ONE picture of me in the school year book.

My feelings were so delicate, so sensitive when I was young. Stupid boys said mean things to me and it stuck to me. I used to wonder why anyone would say something so mean when I felt like I was such a nice person. Oh well -- all water under the bridge now and I am still a nice person.

As is typical with pre-teen girls, or maybe it was just me, I was discovering those weird feelings in my belly when it came to the opposite-sex. Every guy had suddenly become so interesting. Well, that's not entirely true because I actually had a lot of male friends. But I definitely felt unbelievable attraction to the ones that I didn't see as just friends. But it wasn't in the stars to be "liked" by boys in high school. No boyfriends to speak of. No romantic trysts. First kiss wasn't until I was 17 and it was not ideal. (That should be another writer's prompt.) I don't think I missed out on anything though. I always had dates to all the special events. I never went with the same guy to anything from Winterball and banquets to Prom. And no awkward meetings when I see friends from high school now and that's a plus.

Anyway -- this letter is the result of 30 years of living outside of the bubble of high school. The letter started out so much longer. This is the way condensed version. I stuck to the essentials. When I look at that picture of 13-year old me... see below... I look exactly the same except 30 years older. And I feel fabulous about 43-year old me. When you feel good, you look good.

***** LETTER TO MY 13-YEAR OLD SELF *****

Dear 13-Year Old Neena,

Don't pay attention to any of the ugliness that people tell you. All that matters is that you are a child of the Most High.

You are sunbeams and fairy tales.
You are joy and happiness.
You are beautiful in spite of what people say.
You are gorgeous!

And when you're 43 and flawless, the guys that called you ugly will beg you for just a little bit of your time. They will send you letters they wish they had sent when they were busy calling you ugly. Don't worry your pretty little self about any of it. Even if you don't feel beautiful now, you will blossom in your own time.

You are so incredibly smart and kind.
You are so very talented and full of life energy.

At the end of the day, the only thing that matters is what you think of yourself. So build up your own self-worth in your mind and in your heart. All those boys don't even matter. You got this.

I.LOVE.YOU.

Always,

43-year Old Neena

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NATURAL DISASTERS - What Are Your Memories?

VIDEO: Writer's Prompt

It was September 1992.
I was 17 years old. My senior year in high school had just commenced.
Hurricane Iniki was touted as the most powerful hurricane to hit Hawai'i in recorded history. It was a Category 4 hurricane when it hit the island of Kaua'i. The damage it left in its wake was heartbreaking. I have extended family in the Ha'ena, Wainiha, Hanalei region so it was sad to see the damage.

The island I lived on, O'ahu, had been spared any real major damage. We had dodged the fury of Iniki in my little town of Hau'ula. The day the hurricane arrived was a Friday. When O'ahu had received the all-clear sign, I instantly went back to teenage mode instead of worrying about my life and the unknown future. Being that it was Friday night, I wanted to hang out with my friends.

A few of us met up at the BYU Hawaii Campus. The Canon Activities Center on-campus was doubling as the Red Cross Shelter. We normally hung out there on the weekends. It was a safe place. Clean. It had a snackbar with inexpensive food and there were college boys.

The remnants of the hurricane left us with light passing showers and cloudy skies with a full moon hiding behind it. Naomi (high school bestie) and I were sitting near the box office of the Canon Activities Center. A couple of our guy friends came by also. We sat there laughing and talking. And then a peculiar thing happened. The full moon revealed itself from behind the rain clouds. One of my guy friends, let's call him Scott, went into this weird trance. We all started laughing while he was stoic and contemplative.

He proceeded to tell us a story. I cannot remember all of the details but I remember the important stuff. Scott said he had a dream one night. He was compelled to walk out of his home in the middle of the night and directed to go to the intersection of Moana Street and Kulanui Street. There, a man in black waited. (I swear this is not a reference to The Gunslinger stories by Stephen King.) The man in black asked Scott if he wanted to live forever and have supernatural strength. Scott agreed and did as the man in black directed. He lay down on the ground at the "crossroad" of Moana Street and Kulanui and sold his soul to the devil.

I couldn't figure out if he was telling the truth or if it was a scary story for a stormy night. I giggled at first (probably an attempt to calm my fears) but was completely weirded out by the visuals that I had in my mind of the man in black. I wondered what the man's face looked like. Was he like that creepy old man, Reverend Kane on Poltergeist II? Or was he a mirror of Scott's deepest fears?

Naomi and I stood up to move away from him. He stood up immediately also and began following us as we backed away from him.

"Scott. Stop! What are you doing?" I asked.

The full moon was so bright above him. He towered over us. He turned his head to the moon and began howling at the moon as if he were a werewolf. When he faced us after his howl, he raised his arms up, his hands mimicking the claws of an animal and began chasing us. Naomi and I screamed. We were both on the borderline between laughter and terror. Scott saw the terror on our face and fell down laughing. When we seen that he was laughing, Naomi and I calmed down and started laughing too.

At the end of the evening, Naomi and I talked about it and we couldn't figure out if Scott was joking or if he was telling the truth. Til this day I still wonder.

Who Is The First Person You Slow Danced With?

It was the end of Summer 1989. There was a dance to send off the summer and welcome the new school year. My mother told me that I couldn't go to it because my older brother was not going to attend with me. I had just turned 14 and she didn't think I should go out with my friends without my brother close by. Normally, my big brother would cover me but he had plans of his own that night. The dance was being held just a mile from the house and I couldn't understand why she wouldn't let me go. So I did what any head-strong teenager would do and lied. I told her I was going over to my cousin's house, three houses over. I didn't really lie because I had to pass their house on the way to the dance. I stopped in, showed my face, said, "Hello," and kept on moving. By the time I had deployed that plan, it was already late. When I got to the dance, there was only fifteen minutes left before they were shutting it down. I found my friends on the dance floor. One friend, in particular, was dancing with the little boy that I was crushing on but I was glad to just be near him.

Every dance ends with a slow jam. The last song came on. It was "Superwoman" by Karyn White. All my friends were coming off the dance floor and changing dance partners. I had just arrived so I didn't even know who was there. I feel a tap on my shoulder and I turn to see John (not his real name) standing there. He said something really smooth to me. I can't recall what exactly he said but it made me feel like he was being such a gentleman. In school, he had this really rough exterior like he was a tough guy but I knew he was a big teddy bear inside. I was burning up inside. He wasn't the guy I was crushing on but I still felt flattered that he asked me to dance. And that was that. I only remember it because it was such a new experience for me and I felt special. What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic.

Maybe it's just me. Everyone says I have a distorted view of reality. As my ex would say, I have an unrealistic outlook on life and love. I don't think I do. I think I see the world exactly as I wish it would be and it is my reality. And even though my romantic life has never been the fairytale that I wished that it could be, I am exactly where I should be. And I still believe in the fairytale and I still believe in LOVE.

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