Nowadays, you’ll often find me immersed in my childhood memories—whether it’s recollecting the nostalgic evenings held at my grandmother’s house, realizing the moments I once dreamed of as a little girl have already passed without me noticing, or flipping through our family’s scrapbooks. My heart warms at these vivid memories surrounded by the people I love most.
Every Sunday growing up, family members would fill my grandmother’s tiny yellow home. My Tios would crowd the living room couch watching TV—likely some Hallmark movie or sports game—while my Tias gathered together at the dining table, chismeando about who knows what. Meanwhile, I’d sprint through the hallways barefoot, the bottoms of my feet black, hair flying in my face, with a smile brighter than the sun. I’ll never forget those days, when our family felt full, when we didn’t need to be doing anything at all because simply being together was enough.
The summer going into my freshman year, my cousin, Alexandria, and I would have sleepovers almost every night. I can hardly begin to describe the countless times we managed to get into trouble. We once stained her bathroom counters blue after deciding it was a genius idea to dye her baby sister’s Barbie. In the same bathroom, we broke the towel rod off the wall while attempting a TikTok pose standing on each other’s back, then attempted to glue it back on the wall with nail glue without getting caught (we failed).
The countless times we’d wake up our parents laughing, one time while filming ourselves taste-testing sardines, then spending two hours on the bathroom floor editing said video like we were Larray. One night we even decided to attempt being “healthy” and used my moms old juicer at 2:00 a.m., only to realize, after drinking from it, that it was full of mold. Even writing this now, words cannot begin to describe the love my heart holds for those sweet moments; sweet moments that now, unfortunately, only exist within my imagination.
As the years have passed, our family has shrunk. My cousin and I aren’t nearly as close as we once were. It’s been years since we’ve all truly been together as a family, and even longer since some have simply reached out to say happy birthday. The people I was once closest to have slowly faded into my past; I now find it challenging to venture into my once fondest memories, given that now all I feel is longing for these bittersweet times.
While some chose to start their own families and others simply decided to build their own lives away from the rest of us, I catch myself wishing everything would slow down. Instead of dreaming of the possibilities adulthood holds, I’m now hesitating at the final step, terrified of leaving behind the comfort of my past.
Learning that eventually people eventually grow up and move on has been one of the most difficult lessons I’ve faced, and still am yet to overcome. What frightens me most is realizing that I’m growing up, too. When I was younger, I craved independence. I couldn’t wait to find a job or finally get a car so I could go anywhere I wanted. However, now, I’m independent in almost everything I do, I find myself leaning on my parents more and more just to feel like a kid again. As a kid, I had my entire life planned out. Now, I don’t even want to imagine graduating high school.
Nevertheless, through these recollections of my past, I’m beginning to learn not to dwell, but instead be grateful I was blessed with such a beautiful childhood, full of love and laughter. I can’t change my family’s decisions, but I can control my response to the situation. If anything, my upbringing has taught me that growing up isn’t an expiration date on life; it’s an addition, like opening a present; while it may be nerve-wracking at first, it’s so rewarding in the end. In my case, I suppose I simply need to get through that first layer of anxiety to reach the reward.
