How a childhood video changed the way I see myself and my futureThis past year, I was introduced to a never-before-seen, dramatically shot “music video” my cousin took of me at the hospital the day my little brother was born.
September 27, 2013.
I was wearing a light pink Chicago Bears hoodie, bright orange shorts and pink flats. My hair was in a low pony with randomly placed rubber bands and clips. It was a perfect little girl outfit — one with colors, comfort and random assortments that, at the time, made total sense.
I was in complete awe when I started watching. My voice endeared me, raspy yet high-pitched, and the way I moved through the world, I felt light and free. I was unapologetically myself as I sang random tunes and meshed songs together with some improvised lyrics about my brother entering the world.
As I was watching, I noticed I wanted to cry. I wasn’t sure why. If anything, you would think I’d be embarrassed by the video. It was the type of video that made you want to turn away because you don’t like the sound of your voice. But not me. I wanted to see more of this little girl who broke out in song whenever and wherever she wanted. I felt an overwhelming tenderness towards this younger version of myself. I yearned to hug her as if she was separate from me. As if she existed in a different world than what we currently live in, and it was somehow possible to place her beside me.
My heart warmed as I looked through more videos and pictures. It’s easy to forget that you’ve always been you. There used to be a smaller you walking around, and it’s wild to think about.
I remember being unbothered most of the time under the age of 10. I was a happy, carefree and well-cared-for child all the time. But as I entered double digits, I felt more and more insecure about who I was becoming. My body, my hair and my skin. I was a tanner, rounder little girl and I always wished to be lighter.
Looking back, over a decade later, I see nothing but the most beautiful little girl. Round face, messy curly hair, a little belly and chipped nails. Perfect.
How do I even begin to thank that little girl? I feel so much pride knowing she was always unapologetically herself. From such a young age, she moved through the world as if she belonged, because she did. She knew she had a place here, that she had something to offer. Looking back now, I see that she was right.
If she never danced her way through childhood, performed her little skits and sung made-up songs, she wouldn’t have grown to become the person I am today. A young woman who lives through theater and storytelling, a passion that has shaped the course of my life.
After acquiring all these pictures and videos to my camera roll, I sat with myself on the car ride home and thought about this little girl extensively. I imagined the future where I had a daughter of my own.
I imagined her as myself. Where I hold space for her to be exactly who she is, as I did for little me. Where I tell her stories of my first loves, heartbreaks and best friends. Everything. I would live through her as my mama lives through me today. As if all the love, longing and lessons I carried were never solely mine, but always meant to be passed down through another fabric of life.
I want my daughter to be whoever she wants to be. Where there is no limit and no disguise. Whether she chooses dresses or pantsuits, or pursues theater or medicine, or even both.
This is the beauty of it all. How we carry every version of ourselves forward. We are who we are now because of our past selves, and that’s a beautiful thing. The little girl who wore slippers with dresses and danced her heart out every chance she could is still inside me. I’m 19 now, and I carry her with me.
One day, I hope my future daughter will do the same. I hope to witness her magic the way I wished to witness my own.
Header Image by Niamah Arteaga
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