I’m looking at my jewelry rack when suddenly my gold bracelet, which I coined as my “dayge bangle,” begins to look a little weird. It appears to have turned into a dolphin-shaped Sillybandz. Here we go again.
I have suddenly entered the stage of longing for my childhood. I slip into 7-year-old me, who had dreams of becoming a New York Times journalist and a pop star all at once. One who watched “Gossip Girl” at far too young an age. I was fueled by fantasy and romance books at the time (now, just romance). I was the nervous type who stuck to the yearbook club and never talked to my fabricated crushes.
I slip fully into the “good ole days” when it was field day at school. I see brighter colors, and I can hear a Capri-Sun calling my name. Every moment was important to me then. I didn’t worry so much.
“Hi, younger me.”
I feel silly thinking back so far, but this keeps me calm. I think of younger me, who struggled with confidence and would read to herself during recess. I look at my bookshelf now, and my 7-year-old self tells me I need to start reading more again. It works.
I start to think about my love life — it’s not looking so good for me. My 7-year-old self reminds me that “boys go to Jupiter to get stupider.” So true. My worries about finding my husband in college subside.
I have bigger things to worry about, like the difficulty of one of my classes; my writing isn’t as good as it used to be, or at least it feels that way. My younger self urges me to remember elementary and middle school, an era of Fs and Cs when I felt so lost. I think of the hard work I put in throughout high school and decide I need to make younger me proud. I re-focus on my class and push myself to improve, seeking feedback where I can. As my confidence grows, I realize I’m not just making younger me proud, but I’m also following in my father’s footsteps, embracing the same perseverance and dedication he always showed me. Younger me would probably roll her eyes at all this effort, but she’d also be glad to know we figured it out.
But now I’m homesick. My tummy starts to hurt, and I find myself longing for my mom. Younger me isn’t helping, but a note my mom snuck into my suitcase before the first day of college can. She misses me too. But she doesn’t just miss the younger version of me, she misses the woman I’ve become today. The endless Instagram reels she sends me help me to know that.
I realize I’m still in the good days when I look for it. I think back to three days ago when I watched my best friend try a Capri-Sun for the first time. I saw the fascination in her eyes as she asked me if I actually enjoyed this as a kid. Of course, I still do. I laugh with her endlessly for no reason and realize that colors are brighter around me when I bring out younger me.
I pinch myself to come back to present-day me, sitting at my desk and overthinking life. The dolphin-shaped Sillybandz returns to its original shape, and I start to feel at peace. I’ll probably order a couple of those online after my next night at Lao Wang. Younger me would do it too.
Nina Rossi would like to note that younger her would be proud of the woman she is today and only slightly disappointed she never became a pop star.
A version of this article appeared on p. 18 of the February 20, 2025 edition of the Daily Nexus.
