I met my younger self for coffee

Hello, I’m Tiffany, your resident town hermit. Welcome to my fellowship—a haven where you’re free to talk about taboo subjects you can’t anywhere else. Learn more about The Untangling here, or subscribe to never miss a post.

Dear Inklings,

This is an old trend begun by Jennae Cecelia, but one I wanted to try anyway. I suppose I also wrote this for my present self.

(For those sensitive to these topics, there are allusions to sexual assault and suicidal ideation, so if you need to protect yourself, feel free to skip this one, and I'll see you next time.)

I met my fifteen-year-old self for coffee. She paced outside a few times before coming in to order a caramel macchiato. I didn't tell her we only drink black coffee now. She fingered the lid and pushed back her hair awkwardly—the way I still do.

She marveled that we were still alive, and asked if it would always hurt this much.

I smiled—a small, sad smile—and didn't answer right away.

I told her she would encounter poisonous people—one the very next year—who would gain her trust then break her. The one she'd meet next year would break her in ways she didn't know she could be broken, before she even knew he was doing it. And she would not be able to tell anyone the truth for years.

There would be one in college, I told her. This one would be a "friend" who would sneak into her bed, ignore her when she said "No," and blame her for being too attractive afterwards. And she would never tell anyone. Because she didn't want to break up her friend group. And she blamed herself, too—for other reasons.

There would be one much later, I said. This one would take advantage of her grief after her son's death. When she realises how many lies they had told, how much they had manipulated her, and finally cut them out, they would reveal the ugly, vindictive person they were all along. The lies they would spread would destroy her friendships and reputation.

My younger self looked at me, aghast. "If that's my future, why should I stay?"

"Because," I said, "through it, you will know who is truly yours."

I tell her about our best friend—the bubbly torpedo she isn't quite sure about—who would stay by her side all those years, defy the falsehoods. "And you won't believe them about yourself either," the best friend will say. "I know the real you."

I tell her about her godsisters, who see through her masks. How they would embrace her and love her and hold her. How they will cry for her, and believe in her when she can't. How her godsister will come to her door after she gives birth to her miracle daughter and say, "Guess what? I'm pregnant too, and they're going to be best friends, just like we were when we were little."

I tell her about the children who will give her reason.

I tell her how she will grow and grow, that death will shape her, show her what is real and what matters. She will learn who she is and who deserves her.

I tell her about the man she would meet, who would accept her, love her without qualm or question, who would carry her through each depressive episode and illness while still looking at her as though she's the best thing in his life.

I tell her that her dream of writing wasn't dead after all, but would bloom and flourish in the hands of all these people—people who love her so hard she learns to love herself—and she will write words that strangers around the world will copy down on Post-it notes to encourage themselves.

"Because life will keep hurting, because you will keep feeling things too deeply and too sharply for it not to," I tell my younger self, "but it will also be full of ecstatic joy."

She released a breath then, and didn't quite smile. But perhaps held something that was more than despair.

I walked away.

I hope.

About Me: Tiffany Chu is a Taiwanese American writer based in San Diego. Her essays and short stories have been published by Open Secrets Magazine, San Diego Writers Ink, and Chicago Story Press. She writes about evergreen themes of grief, belonging, and what it means to be human. She's been writing this publication, The Untangling, since 2023. Order my books here.