Nostalgia will rot my brain someday

A song to listen while reading this

I keep thinking about stuff that doesn’t exist anymore. like how my room used to look when i was twelve, or how it felt to walk into school and instantly regret waking up. the dumbest little things stay stuck in my head. like the way the tiles felt under my shoes in ballet class. or how the air always smelled like dust and some weird kind of old perfume.

i told my mom i didn’t want to go to ballet anymore because the teacher was awful. and i said it right in front of her and the whole class. i was scared, but i was also so tired of pretending i liked it. and i think about that moment a lot. not because it was super deep or anything, but because it was the first time i stood up for myself in public. and no one really said anything after. they just kept doing what they were doing. but i didn’t go back.

i miss the version of me that used to draw on every piece of paper, even the backs of receipts or napkins or whatever i could find. i still draw now, obviously, but it used to feel different. it used to feel like it was the only thing i was good at. like i could hide in it. now everything feels like it has to be good. like i owe people some kind of result. and that ruins it sometimes.

nostalgia isn’t really about the good parts. i think most of what i miss is the stuff that didn’t seem like anything at the time. getting a chocolate milk at the corner store. putting on my headphones just to avoid talking. lying on my gigantic bed and staring at the ceiling while the rain hit the windows. not having to be anything or explain myself. just existing in that quiet, heavy way.

i miss nights where nothing happened. where i’d sit on the floor in my room surrounded by random fabric and magazine cutouts and old art supplies. i didn’t even know what i was making half the time. i just wanted to make something. and that felt enough.

and honestly? i miss 2012. not because it was the best time ever — it wasn’t. but there was something weirdly special about it. grainy webcam selfies, tumblr dashboards full of neon words and blurry sunsets, everyone pretending to be deep but in the most dramatic, honest way. posting cryptic quotes in lowercase. wearing friendship bracelets like they meant something. watching stop motion films and feeling like the whole world was made out of paper and string.
no one knew what they were doing and that made it okay.
i didn’t either. and it felt okay.

i don’t think i want to go back. i just hate that i can’t. even if i walked into those same rooms or found those old clothes or held that exact sketchbook, it wouldn’t feel the same. the version of me that lived in those moments isn’t here anymore. and i don’t know where she went.

i still feel her sometimes, though. when i look at certain drawings. or when the light hits the wall just right. or when i do that thing where i crack my ankles over and over without noticing. some parts stick. others just... disappear.

i think that’s what makes nostalgia so weird. it’s not about remembering. it’s about trying not to forget.

anyway. if you read this, tell me what you miss. or don’t. either way, it’s fine.
just needed to get it out.

– Lo