DOLL

28th Feb, Friday 2025

2:06AM 

This is what I wrote, I cried writing it.

I met my younger self for coffee.

She was almost an hour late,

I arrived fifteen minutes past. 

I wore my dark hair in a twirled-up bun, 

Her hair was red and wild, a reckless seventeen.  

I had blue denim jeans on, 

She wore a bodycon dress. 

She had a face full of makeup, 

and her acne marks were peeking through.  

I barely had any. Just enough to look presentable. 

 

She hesitates, then asks, “So did we become a writer?”

I shake my head, no.

I tell her about my role, and she gasps in awe. “Wow, us!” 

I let her bask in delight and stop short of saying more. 

No need to burst her bubble. 

She’s eager to know if we finally meet a guy, 

I show her my rings. 

He’s so much taller than us, I say. He cooks, 

he frustrates us aplenty, but he makes us roll over in laughter. 

She’s dizzy with joy. We've never met anyone at the right time. Phew!

 

She takes a huge sip of her iced matcha latte, 

And she whispers,

“Are ah pa and ma still fighting a lot?” 

My palms are sweaty, and I start fidgeting. 

“No...it’s quiet at home now.”

She looks at me in disbelief, 

And she watches as tears well up in my eyes. 

“Ah pa?”

I nod. 

She’s fighting back tears now,

We sit in silence. 

 

I want to apologize for being weak,

I want to tell her we still don’t have everything figured out, 

Even after turning thirty. 

That I am lost and frightened too. 

 

But I look at her and say,

Everything will get better. You’ll see. 

She looks at me with her watery, glass eyes 

And gives me a light nod of faith. 

She knows her heart will one day be broken, 

But today she will love them more. 

 

I hope we meet for coffee again,

I will give her a tight hug this time.