The Awkward 27

I just recently turned the awkward age of 27 in February. And it really took over a whole month for me to process that I’m actually 27. I say “awkward 27” because it’s an age where you’re not as confused as you were in your early 20’s, but you’re not quite knowing what the fuck you’re doing yet. That’s the case for me at least. It’s one of those transitional years that will have you playing around with your career, who you surround yourself with, and in general trying figuring out what direction to take your life. That’s currently the stage I’m in.

It’s also a funny age because if you take a hundred 27 year olds from all over the country, you’d quickly see how different everyone’s lives are. You have 27 year olds that are married with kids, starting a business, traveling the world, going to school, working minimum wage jobs, unemployed, sick, are sugar babies, are successful, act like they’re 55, or the ones that act like they’re still 17. It is such a wide spectrum. What nobody tells you is that your late 20’s will somewhat feel like a preview of what you assume a mid-life crisis would feel like.

I’ve always been the type that tried to plan out my life and next moves to a T. The kind of plans that are well thought out with back up plans on back up plans on deck. That has always been my nature – plan ahead and hope for the best, but simultaneously having the “I’ll just wing it” complex. The “I’ll deal with it when I deal with it,” mindset is both comforting yet dreadful. Especially since 27 feels like I should have it “dealt with” already.

When you’re in your early 20’s, you feel like you have all the time in the world to figure life out. But in a blink of an eye I went from being 21 to being a confused ass 27 year old. Where the fuck did the time go, ma’am-sir, because I didn’t prepare for this shit. As I approached my mid-20’s, the dread started to set in. The fear of “fuck, am I going to be able to pull this shit off?” was always at the back of my mind. That’s me, always waiting until the very last minute to fight or flight life.

In my early 20’s, I wasn’t trippin’ much about the future and my career. Yes, I cared about getting my degree and started attempting to save money, but I wasn’t taking it too seriously. The future was definitely a thought, but it seemed too far away to stress out about. When I hit my mid 20’s, it started to hit me that my clock was ticking. And when I say my clock, I mean every fuckin clock out there. My career clock, my financial stability clock, my life timeline clock, but most importantly my biological clock. But at that point, I’m 24 – 25, I have a couple more years to figure it out. “That’s future Marinelle’s problem,” I would tell myself.

But literally overnight, I went from 26 to 27. And it really felt like it was the transition of the century. Oh shit. I’m fuckin 27. To put it into perspective, my mom was 26 when she got married to my dad, and when I juxtapose my life now to hers 30 years ago, my jaw could literally drop at the difference. I’m a firm believer in knowing that things will happen on its own time for me. I know life is a lot different now than it was when my mom was my age. At age 27 she was married and had her first child. But at the same time, I can’t help but think that these next 3-5 years are grind time.

In 3-5 years, I’ll be 30 – 32. I say grind time because whether I want to admit it or not, my time frame to start and have a family is very limited. I’ll never forget when my best friends and I sang happy birthday to my friend on her 18th birthday. 18th birthdays to Filipinos are a really big deal. It’s a woman’s entrance into “womanhood.” We watched her as she hovered over her 18th birthday cake, the candles lit and ready to be blown out. We expected her to make a wish and blow out her candles, happy, and ready to hangout the rest of the day. Instead, she blew out her candles and began to cry. I wish I could take a picture of everyone’s face expression in that moment. “What’s wrong?!”

“My biological clock is ticking!” She said laughing behind the tears she was shedding.

We held that moment against her since. We laughed out of complete shock and confusion. Is this bitch really crying and worrying about having kids at her EIGHTEENTH birthday?! It was just so funny to us because we were seniors in high school, all we’re supposed to care about at that time was getting into college, worrying about what major to declare, and trippin’ off boys who weren’t going to mean shit to us a couple years down the road. It just seemed so damn premature to be worrying about reproducing at that exact moment. To this day we still joke about the “biological clock” crying incident.

But here I am now, 27 years old, worrying about my damn biological clock. Life always seems to come back around full circle, doesn’t it? In a way, I feel like the pandemic aged me. It’s been 2 years since the start of the pandemic. I went into the pandemic freshly turning 25, and now we’re still in the thick of the madness 2 years later. There’s a huge part of me that feels like a good chunk of my youth has been taken from me. 2 years doesn’t seem like much, but those 2 years in the grander scheme of things were really pivotal ages.

25 and 26 years old – the ages where you really begin to know yourself as a person. And I definitely was forced to know myself even more in the midst of the lockdown. 25 and 26 is so smack dabbed in the middle of crucial points in one’s life, and I feel like for those 2 years we all had no choice but to chill out and wait as the world around us turned into a frenzy over the pandemic. Life stood still during these 2 years while simultaneously speeding shit up.

I found that to be especially true when Tatay passed away last year. When he passed, I really re-evaluated what I want out of this life – what’s important to me, what my dreams are, what I would do to make sure everyone around me is good. I lost someone so important to me, and in a way, it felt like I was saying goodbye to a certain part of my life. Whether I liked it or not, life was turning the page, entering me into a new chapter of life. I spent the rest of 2021 wallowing in my sadness, as I had every right to do. Then 2022 came and it’s like 27 said, “Ready or not, here I come.”

The new year somewhat reset me. When I hear people’s success stories, it motivates and inspires me to keep trying to get to where I want to be in life. You don’t know how you’re going to get there, but you hope you will. When will the opportunity show itself? I can’t help but think that things will show up as a sign or opportunity when the time is right. And if I’m being completely honest, I thought those signs and opportunities would reveal themselves already. But I try to remember that each month that passes by, I’m slowly taking baby steps to where I want to be. It doesn’t seem like any progress on a day to day basis, but when you look back, you’ll see how those small steps got you far.

And like I said, I feel like the next 3-5 years are grind time. Deep in my heart I hope I can pull it all off. It’s like a little ticking clock constantly keeping track in my head. When I daydream, I picture myself having it all. Will I be financially stable enough to have kids in the next couple of years? Will I be ready to not be selfish and take on the responsibility of caring for another life / lives for the rest of my life? Will I Hail Mary the next couple of years and just miraculously successfully get my shit together? I think of all of this stuff often.

These things are in the back of my head, but surprisingly, I’m suspiciously content. Content with where I’m at in life, content with the biological time frame I have as a woman, and content in knowing that whatever is meant to be will be, and whatever is meant for me will happen with time. But it’s true, I’m getting older, these are things I need to think about and plan for. At 27, I still have the “I’ll deal with it when I deal with it mentality,” however, one thing is different this time.

This time around, I find myself being more productive with my time. I find myself watering parts of my life I want to see grow, especially in my career sector, dreams sector, and relationships. For me, there’s no point in trippin’ out, things will happen when it’s supposed to. And like always, I’ll wing it when it’s time. But one thing I know for sure is that I can’t be sitting here waiting for things to progress if I’m not making the conscious effort to make things happen. I find myself being more purposeful with my time, knowing every move is a calculated step to what I want in the future.

I went into 2022 with a whole new mindset. I don’t know what it was or what triggered it. I like to think after a depressing year losing Tatay and Rhonda, they are pulling string for me on the other side, giving me the motivation to do the things I want to achieve. I’ve been a procrastinator all my life, but I went into 2022 wanting to get shit done. I’m taking literal baby steps in becoming productive, even if it that means creating small habits that will benefit me in the long run.

I was never one to fear getting older. In fact, I always wanted to be older because I wanted that freedom, stability, and independence. I’m realizing now, with my 27 year old ass, that it takes a lot of hard work and preparation to get to that level of comfort. But I’m confident that I’ll wing it, like I have been for the last 27 years. This time though, I’m doing it with more purpose and intent. Whatever is meant to be mine will be mine, with hard work of course. I’m fully embracing my awkward 27th year of life. I’m embracing the unknown, the confusion, and winging it as I go.

A Day I Tried To Forget

In the summer of 2007, my mom’s mom, Mama, was nearing the end of her life. By that point, she was in and out of the ICU, along with her husband, my Tatay Celso, who also had his fair share of health complications. Our family spent a great deal of time visiting Mama and Tatay every weekend for hours on end. Each family would bring food – little snacks like bread and other baked goods. We would be all gathered around their bedside picking at the food that each family brought. Multiple families crammed into those hospital rooms to visit at the same time. Before this, we met every Sunday at Mama’s house for lunch. Things were different with her and Tatay Celso in and out of the hospital. “Mama’s house” didn’t feel like Mama’s house without them there. So, we’d bring “Mama’s house” to them.

My family and my cousins would visit often, every Sunday to be exact. My little sister would bring her Nintendo DS to pass time. We would use the DS’s messaging feature to pretend that our Bratz dolls were “AIM-ing” each other (lmfaooo, what a sign of the times). We really had a whole scandalous story line and everything. My sister and I would spend so much time typing out each word with that damn stylist, send the message, pass the DS back to the other, and wait for the other’s reply. We had full on Bratz dolls conversations through one DS. That’s dedication… and boredom.

My aunts, uncles, and cousins would come regularly with us to visit, and we would basically occupy the waiting rooms if they were in the ICU, or their bedside when they were stable enough, or in the Convalescent homes they were in when they were recovering. Everyone would try to come around the same time, but each family left on their own time. No matter where Mama and Tatay Celso were transferred to, whether that be the hospital, ICU, in and out of Convalescent homes, our family was there.

When Mama and Tatay Celso weren’t in the same facility, we would divide our Sunday afternoon to make sure both were being visited. When someone is sick, we really do show up and show out for the ones we love. We roll deep in numbers and make it a family gathering, just like Sunday lunches at Mama’s house. They were never completely alone for long. Especially during the weekends, when everyone was off school and work. That’s when they had the majority of their visits.

However, Mama’s health was declining way before she was in and out of the hospital. It was emotionally exhausting to witness her health decline, slightly improve, then decline, slowly improve, and then decline again. It was like false hope each time. And at 12 years old, it was a lot to take in. I knew Mama had diabetes and that she was sick. But looking back, I didn’t realize how tedious her routine was due to her sickness.

I’d get off school and walk to Mama’s house Tuesday through Friday, waiting for my mom to get off work and pick us up. Everyday I’d see Mama on the couch watching TFC. I’d greet her with a “mano po” by picking up her hand and having her “bless” me by putting her hand to my forehead. This was my usual routine from preschool until 6th grade. When she was in and out of the hospital, it was weird to get off school and open the door to Mama’s house and not see her on the couch. With her health declining, I would open Mama’s front door and be greeted by an empty living room.

We were visiting so often that it felt like the hospital was our new stomping grounds. We were always there. There was always food. And we were always there for helllllllla long. It was routine for us at that point. We would go to 1 o’clock mass, and instead of heading straight to Mama’s house for lunch, like we did every Sunday since I was born up until that point, we would go pick up food to bring to the hospital. I remember this time specifically because it would soon become a day I regretted.

It was your typical Sunday, and this hangout at the hospital was no different than the others. My mom and my aunts were chatting it up with Mama as she laid on the hospital bed. By that point, we have been there for what seemed like a couple of hours. Don’t get me wrong, I liked visiting Mama because I knew throughout the week when all her kids were at work and us grandkids were at school, it can get pretty lonely. The weekends were the only time the whole family was available and could gather together since the weekdays were so hectic and busy. I knew that us visiting would make her day. So I knew the importance of visiting and that the quality time meant a lot to my mom. But we would stay for a looooooooong time.

At the time, my 12 year old self dreaded the extended hours, only because there was nothing for us to do. I didn’t have a phone, the TV didn’t have good channels, the chairs were uncomfortable, and don’t even get my started on the hospital smell. 1 hour was cool, 2 hours was chillin’, but longer than that, boredom started to kick in. And this particular visit, I hit my limit again. I was getting bored. My little sister, my dad, and I sat outside the hospital room where it was more open. I hinted to my dad, more so irritatingly suggested, that we should get going since we been there for a long time. I was over the DS and writing back and forth with my little sister. But, as all Filipino parents do, they tell their kids 5 more minutes, even though they know it won’t be 5 minutes.

I whined to my dad tirelessly for us to leave. I already knew that we would be there doing the same thing next week. Then, I would go to my mom and try to discreetly tell her we should get going. I was met with “yeah, yeah, yeah’s,” and being shooed away. Being a preteen, moody, with no phone, nothing to do, and just sitting there to pass time seemed like the hardest thing to do at the time. Looking back, I was definitely just a bored brat.

Like any typical Sunday visit, we left after a couple of hours, and we said bye to Mama, planning to see her again the week after. However, that’s not what happened. Unfortunately, her health declined and she ended up back in the ICU, where she remained until the day she passed. We never got to visit again. And that last visit haunted me for a long time. I felt so guilty, so selfish, so foolish for pushing to leave early that day, not knowing that it would be the last time I saw Mama fairly well and alive. That last visit I urged my parents to leave early because of my boredom, and even though they ignored my advances, I still felt guilty for wanting to leave. I was completely unaware that that would be my last visit to Mama.

I felt guilty for a long time. I was hard on myself years after the fact, and the regret was heavy on my conscious. I’ve come to terms with it now, 14 years later, knowing that I was literally just a kid who couldn’t have known what was to come. And now, I find myself trying to make up for it in different ways in the present day. I prioritize family events, especially when it was events for Tatay Jack or at his house when he was still alive. That’s part of the reason why I wanted to be so present and available when Tatay was living out the remainder of his final days. He was my last living grandparent, I didn’t want the same situation to repeat. I wanted to make up for my past by being present, showing up, and not being impatient.

Now as an adult, I see the importance of spending time and giving quality time. Your time is really all you can give. Now I understand that. That last visit with Mama has been a day in my life that I have tried to forget because I was so ashamed of my attitude and restlessness. I battled with myself and replayed that day in my head for a long time, wishing I could go back and change how I acted. That day really slapped me into reality and taught me the bittersweet lesson that you never know what the future holds.

Congrats On Adulting

By now, I bet it’s safe to say that my consistent readers know how I feel about change and how I handle it. I’m so sentimental about everything. And the more I think about it, I’ve come to realize that the things that make me sad are just … a part of life. I get so sad over certain things – some might even say I can think myself into a deep depression. I get frustrated with myself at times because I feel everything so deeply, I analyze everything, and overthink myself to the point where I’m exhausted. But what exactly gets me so melancholy?

Change as a whole. I’ve written so many blog posts about different scenarios and topics. I put a lot of my fears and anxiety filled thoughts out there into the world, and a common factor is how stubborn I am with change. And it’s crazy, because I am all for growth and improvement. I’m completely aware that there’s no growth without change, and you can only excel so much in a certain environment. And up until recently, I would’ve described myself as a go with the flow laid back type of person. I believe it’s due to the fact that from preschool until you graduate college, it’s pretty much a set path. Of course, not everyone’s journey is the same, but education wise it’s kind’ve the same route. Once I graduated from the school environment, I felt lost, and change seemed scary.

And to some, I bet I sound mad childish and pathetic. Why is this bitch so sad about change? It’s normal… Trust me, sometimes after posting a blog post I wonder why I get overly emo about normal shit that people go through. But, I know I can’t be the only person in the world who feels an enormous sense of sadness, gets mad sentimental, and nostalgic when things begin to shift. That feeling of “nothing lasts forever,” gets me every time, and I feel myself desperately clinging onto the present day and not wanting things to change. I try to fight and resist it, even though deep down I know that this is just another part of growing up.

It’s funny because when I was younger all I wanted to do was be “grown.” I dreamed of my house, my future family, my life. The yearning to be an adult as a child is something we all go through. What’s even more cringe is the fact that I thought I was grown at 16 – 18 years old… L M F A O. At that age, I thought I could handle everything and anything. I was ballsy and would take the chance in any situation. What happened to that invincible feeling? I mean, I’m 25. I’m not that old, some might even say I’m not even “grown” yet. But somewhere along the line, that ballsy “I’ll do whatever I want, when I want, I can do anything and everything, don’t tell me otherwise,” feeling faded.

Well, maybe not faded, if you catch me in the right mood, probably after listening to my encouraging music – aka J.Cole’s The Warm Up and Friday Night Lights, you can find me with confidence and motivation. Which for the most part, I am. I’m a dreamer, and I have my ups and downs when it comes to achieving my goals and dreams. But then I have those days when I’m hesitant, anxious, and unmotivated. When did I become so calculated with my next move? What happened with going with the flow?

I guess a part of that can be because I’m an adult now. I realized that spontaneously doing whatever I want at the time can have consequences. I started to realize that some decisions are irreversible in this game called life, and I wasn’t about to make a foolish misguided calculation. And that’s kind’ve the position I’m in. I’m so focused on making the right “move” and right decision that making change to get to a better place is hard. I fear choosing the wrong path.

But I know being stubborn with change will only stunt my growth. Out of nowhere I went from a college student to a graduate who is now in the real world. And being in the “real world” is a little overwhelming. Now is the time to do all the things I’ve hoped to do, all the things I’ve dreamed of. Nobody talks about the hurt that comes along with growing up. People move away, people get busy, people start new lives, and suddenly, all the good memories are a thing of the past. I even catch myself living in the present moment and soaking in everything around me, and getting sad that it won’t “be like this” forever.

I think about how I grew up, being around my whole extended family from both my mom and dad’s side. I was telling my little sister how it’s crazy to think that I can remember being 3-4 years old, hanging out with my aunt and her now husband, thinking that they were grown as shit. Now, I’m that aunt with the boyfriend that kicks it with the nieces and nephews.

It’s all a part of growing up. And I’m not on some Peter Pan shit where I don’t want to grow up. But, I do get very nostalgic and sad when I think of things changing and never going back to how it “was.” Knowing that everyday, little changes happen, and then one day you wake up and realize shit is completely different. I guess the main thing about “growing up” and having things change is the fact that I know just like times and memories, people don’t last forever.

One day I was talking to one of my best friends about this concept. That I’m afraid to make moves and changes because I fear I’ll miss out on family events and I’ll feel guilty if someone passes away. “That’s such a toxic way of thinking,” he told me. He explained that of course we want to be there for big moments, and deep down we all know nobody lives forever, but that’s no way to live your life. And it’s true, and I’m aware of the fact that I get sad about things not being like how it was in the past, for example : meeting at my grandparents’ house every Sunday after church for lunch and hanging out with all of my cousins. They’re nice little reminiscent memories that make you feel like “awww, I miss those days.” But even in the present day I trip off things I can’t control. Like the fact that we’re in the middle of a pandemic and we haven’t hungout at our 97 year old Tatay’s place in months with the whole family…

As much as things and memories give me happy-sad memories, I know it’s all a part of adulting and going through life. This is literally nothing new, and I finally get the saying “that’s life.” When I vent to some friends and those close to me, sometimes I feel foolish because it’s like, dude… you’re just sad about “adulting.” It’s just the journey of life and becoming more independent. I never knew adulting could bring up so many emotions. For me, it’s anxiety, nostalgia, being sentimental, scared, with a hint of excitement. I know there are people out there that are the total opposite of me, and crave change and welcome the unknown with open arms. But this post is dedicated to the people who want that growth and want to charge forward with life, but still get sad and wrapped up in their feels. It’s okay to feel this way. Nobody really brings up the emotional side of growing up. It’s okay to want change but feel sad about it…

Vacation: Finding My Balance Again

This is the time of the year I’ve been anticipating for so long. The perks of working at a preschool is staying on the “school” schedule, something I was not ready to let go of after I graduated. These periods of paid vacation give me time to unwind, think, get in touch with myself again, and hopefully recharge and get re-inspired.

The last couple of months, but more so the last couple of weeks, I’ve been feeling like I was dragging myself to the finish line. That finish line being this break. I was running out of gas, and faster than usual. I feel like I always get like that when I’m anticipating a long break/vacation. But this one felt different. Last year, I dragged myself to the finish line and had graduation to celebrate at the end of it all. It was the most relieving feeling ever. Now, I dragged myself to the finish line of winter break, this time, not much to celebrate.

Everytime my work has an extended amount of time off, I try to do things that I know I enjoy and things I never have time for. This morning, Justine and I hit the gym at 8 am. We used to go 2-3 times a week at 6 am, before my hours increased to fulltime. Now, I wake up at 5 am every weekday for work. It felt good to have an outlet to relieve some stress. And it also felt good to not have to rush to do something else right after.

I’ve been waiting for this break for so long because the best plans for me is no plans at all. I’ve been day dreaming of laying down at home watching TV, nowhere to go, no actual plan, in my pajamas most likely asleep. I’m constantly doing something everyday, and I just want a break. A break from adulting. And I definitely will have a couple days like that during these 2 weeks off! But I realized, this is the time to act and do.

During my summer break at work, where I got 2 consecutive weeks off, I did the whole “no plans, multiple days to yourself” thing for a little too long. I started to get so bored that I knew I’d regret not doing anything once work started up again. So I plan to do this break a little different.

I want to workout as many days as I can, when I want to, and if I want to. I want to catch up on shows that I always end up falling asleep to because of how tired I am at the end of a workday. I want to read the books I’ve put off to the side, and get re-inspired by feminist authors. I want to continue reading the Avatar the Last Airbender comic books that I have, because damn these comics answer a lot of questions I have! One of these comic books revealed the story of Zuko’s mom, and I was truly shook. Avatar is my obsession. I try to watch it from beginning to end every other year to feel more spiritual and woke. I’m not even kidding. To some it sounds ridiculous, but Avatar the Last Airbender is so deep, and holds a special place in my heart. Avatar faithful. I’ve been due for another showing from beginning to end, but my DVD player has been weird, it plays the DVD and then 5 minutes into any episode it blows out the speakers. The weirdest thing. So I haven’t been able to watch my Avatar for a minute. Christian tried to fix this problem by getting the whole series on Blu Ray, but he took the ps4 player with him while he visits SoCal during the break, so I’m still Avatar-less.

Anyways, I always try to get ahead of the game during these breaks and write a couple stories, so I’m not stressed out when Sunday/Monday comes around. I have 3-4 stories I have in the works right now, of people that want to share their stories. Right now I’m just doing all the interviewing and getting those details. I imagine this is what being a fulltime journalist will feel like. Except it’s kind’ve hard when I work 40 hours a week, also trying to maintain a social life, but keep my true passions in check all at the same time.

Keeping up this blog is basically like assigning yourself a final paper due every Monday. I’ve been out of school for a year, but I knew I would never be done with deadlines if I want to pursue a career as a writer / journalist. So I started assigning Mondays as my forever deadline, until I make it, and then you’ll catch me in a magazine or news columns. Breaks like this from my actual 8-5 job is what gives me that break to think creatively again. Reconnecting with myself is an important thing.

I thought I knew the definition of “self-care” when I was in college. Don’t get me wrong though, college was not easy. There were many times where I was literally mentally breaking down, and had to take a break. That’s where “self-care/treat yo-self” came into play for me. This would be in the form of a nap, face mask, literally walking away from the assignment, hanging out with friends, etc. But the thing with college was, once the final was turned in, once the presentation was over, once the whole ass class was over, there was relief. This adulting life…. this is different.

I think about this often and ususally think, “first world problems.” Because it’s true. I’m grateful that I wake up every morning and have a job to go to. I’m grateful that I had the opportunity to go to school and finish up a degree. I’m hopeful that there is a writing job out there that I will feel fulfilled. But I realized since I got out of school, that I relied so much on my next “break,” my next “vacation” period that would get me through. “Just X amount of days until ____ vacation,” is what would get me through in school and in work. But I realized, once I get out of the teaching field, I’m not going to have any long “break” to look forward to. And then what?

My mental health is so focused on break / vacation, that I really don’t know how I’ll transition to working a writing job not on the “school holiday” schedule. Break is where I recharge myself and give myself a break to relax. When I’m full blown adulting, I won’t have these 2 weeks to fall back on.

And it makes me wonder, how do people recharge? I already know that for me, it’s so easy to lose track of the things I love and enjoy doing because life and priorities get in the way. I have to work 8-5 to make money, I have to do xyz in order to get to xyz point. And in that routine, sometimes I lose track of what I really want. I get trapped in the labyrinth of adulting. But my break/vacation is what brings me back. I get the time to do things that I can’t regularly do when I work 40 hours a week. And it made me realize that that’s how some people get lost in their journey. They kind’ve get side tracked with doing adult grown person shit, and in doing so, lose sight of the end goal. Especially since it is so hard to transition from 1 career to the next. And I feel like that’s how some people get trapped into not doing what they really want, or not following their dreams.

This crossed my mind as I started planning my 2 week break. Since I’m fortunate to have these 2 weeks off, I plan to use it to my advantage, since I know I won’t always have this opportunity to unwind and relax. I also want to take this time to really hangout with friends. With life and everyone’s schedules, it’s so easy to just fall off for a couple of weeks. Everyone is in different stages of their lives, and for me and my friends, we like to catch up and talk about it, ususally over food.

Sadly, I’m kind’ve passed the point in my life where my friends and I can all just say “hey let’s all meet up at ____’s house,” on a whim. But I’ll gladly take these 2 weeks to remember what it’s like to not have any responsibility, to fall inlove again with the things that I have put to the side, and remember who I am.