A Letter of Gratitude

Dear Reader,

It’s been a few months since I’ve last written to you. I hadn’t meant for so much time to pass, but life gets away from us sometimes. You hadn’t left my mind all this time, though. I often think of what you might be up to, if you’re doing well, if you’re happy.

I’ve been undergoing some massive transformations in my life as of late. I feel like a weightless sphere of tumbleweed, or a speck of dust, floating about in the breeze and directed to a better place. Since turning 25, I have spent nearly every day in reflection. It feels appropriate for a milestone like this, a time to look back at my past decisions; at the events and situations that have shaped me into the individual I am today. I often feel like we are a byproduct of circumstance, not entirely calculated nor able to control the way we are shaped, but instead accept things as they come and make the best of them. Not unlike a beach ball lost at sea, bobbing in the waves until it reaches a distant shore somewhere.

A few days after my 25th I had packed my life once again and journeyed back to my point of origin, returned to my hometown. “Town” feels like such an understatement; this city has shifted in so many ways since I last visited. Its boundaries feel like they’ve shifted outwards, its people have gotten younger, bolder, experimental. Wherever I go, I’m surrounded by art, by modernism, by so much. I don’t hate it. Do I love it? That’s going to be a letter for another day. I was feeling overwhelmed by the change, anxious even, but as soon as my feet touched the ground and I smelled that dry desert air, I knew the possibilities were endless. I felt grounded, I felt home. I am home.

I reached a point in my reflection now that is filled to the brim with gratitude. I often find myself lost in my own head, flipping through a collage of my life, a montage reel playing in my mind that won’t leave me alone. I won’t lie and say it’s all happy, nor entirely pleasant, but I have come to accept that I will never be a purely blank piece of paper. I no longer think of myself as “tainted”, nor my soul as “weary”. Instead, I’m a painting, not too bright, not too dark, but balanced in its composition. Instead, my soul is not tired, it is aged, experienced, it has felt.

This collage of moments, these brief pictures of happiness, friends, of loss; I cherish them. I think them over and feel my heart spilling over with an overwhelming amount of gratitude. Grateful to have experienced what I experienced, to have felt what I felt, to have seen what I saw. Each moment, each memory, have shaped me into someone I can now look at with pride. With camaraderie. I see myself as a companion, a partner to keep me on the ground. I think of those people that I now have by my side, old and new, and I feel grateful that they have deemed me an individual they would like to share parts of themselves with. That is a privilege that I do not take lightly, it’s cherished. They have influenced me in many ways, big and small, that they might never know about, but I’m grateful nonetheless.

This is my letter of gratitude, my moment of saying thank you. Thank you for being here, thank you for giving your time to others, for sharing yourself. Thank you for accepting the pieces of myself I choose to share with you. I hope they mean as much to you as they do to me.

With love,

Fatima.