I don't have a favorite composer. I don't have a Twitter or TikTok or Snapchat and I refuse to make accounts. I don't have a dual citizenship or a Chinese accent, or maybe it's too far buried under my American sensibilities. I don't have photos of me in crop tops even though I wear crop tops. I don't have the courage to go on California Screaming or the steep zipline off the third level of a ropes course. I don't have 20/20 vision or good posture or a straight spine. I don't have the courage to ask a celebrity for an autograph. I don't have parents who can understand me in English. I have neither allergies nor the itch to become a full-time artist. I do not have what it takes.1
I don't have anything to talk about today, so I'll talk about what I've left behind. I left my alternate selves, the Isabel who's a chemical engineer or environmental scientist, and they are as removed from me like sisters I never knew I had, ships in the night. I left my dreams of being an artist or musician or filmmaker, at least full-time, at least for now, and the prospects of being so talented I could get by with just myself. I left the Spotify Blend we created, now an unavailable playlist, the remnants of what once was true. I left because I need to know myself. I left, or perhaps you left, you being the person who once sent me a speech about all the things we leave behind and asking, was it worth it? Now I'm old enough to know that sometimes we have no choice but to leave things behind, but that the ones we choose not leave behind are the ones that create the gravity for us to adhere to ourselves and our world. I'm not a meteor or an astronaut; I prefer to be a tree and the bird that lives within it.
1. inspired by Kit Zauhar's Intro Through Absence