Dear 2018
You fill me with so
much hope and so much worry. You are going to be a year of doing, creating, and
protesting. But how much can change? And how much will be good change? Your
predecessor has left much to improve on, from race relations to our so-called president
to extreme terrorism to the fate of an uncensored internet to the sexual
assault allegations that just won’t stop piling up. Yes, 2017 pissed me off a
little bit. A lot.
Let me begin by
saying that I don’t blame you personally, as a year just exists to hold in its
365 hands all that happens. But 2017 seemed to be a step in the wrong
direction, like a glitch in the system of our history. Our country, built by
immigrants, elected a man so keen on their demise, the word fascist got a
chilling update. And as I bid my own teary goodbye to my beloved Obamas, the
whole government seemed to go through a process much like evaporation, slowly
trickling away and then condensing into something new entirely. A gas. Yes, our
government had become a toxic gas, with a globally-warmed cherry on top. I try
to look at last year positively, but it doesn’t feel right. Children were
ripped out of their families’ arms because of a few pieces of paper. Because
the home of a person fleeing danger should depend on a form or the signature of
authority who doesn’t even want them there in the first place. The airports
flooded much like Puerto Rico and Florida and Houston. And in all these
instances, our government denounced the problem or did nothing. The air of our
country changed. White extremists crawled out of hiding. A swastika was painted
on the wall of my neighborhood mural. Our flowers all began to wilt.
So I ask you, 2018,
for a little more light, as it’s been so dark. I ask you for a year where
people don’t have to worry every night about being kicked out of their homes. I
ask for Planned Parenthood to stay healthy and alive, supplying our humans with
the necessary resources for being healthy and alive themselves. I ask for a
year where more and more women, men and non-binary folks are comfortable
sharing their sexual harassment stories, because it’s obvious these painful
truths need to be shared. I ask you to make us wake up and listen. I ask for
cleaner air and water for Flint and all the other Flints of the world. I ask
for more films that defy stereotypes. I ask for books written by authors from
all walks of life. I ask for people like Cintoia Brown to find justice. Our
prison system could use some work, 2018. I know we can’t change everything in a
year, but I ask you to be a better attempt than the last.
Personally, I seek
for myself clearer intentions with everything I do, and purpose to my
relationships with others. I loved and hurt and got hurt. My people drifted in
and out of the realm of my world, and I found that it was so much harder to let
go than it was to hold on, but once I did I could breathe again. And I need
you, new year, to grant me the strength that I lacked last to move on, to pick
myself up and say my goodbyes and go. There is so much that I’m going to be
leaving behind, so much I have already let go of: my little blue house, my
students in the mountains, someone I thought fate had brought me to, my
childhood bed. On this path towards self love that I know is going to last me a
lifetime, I hope you can be some sort of shortcut. Not one year in my 14 have I
looked in the mirror and seen bare beauty. When I was little I used my brain to
bolster myself up. Now I use self awareness or empathy or some form of both,
but it is never just me, feeling beautiful when I wake up or before I drift off
to sleep. There have to be measures taken, changes made, in order for me to be
comfortable in my skin. Beauty radiates from within, so first who I am must be
made clear, and you are going to test that in more ways than one. Can you show
me how to simultaneously love my freckles and strengthen the kindness I show
others?
This year, I am going
to say my name like it is the most beautiful thing carved from turquoise, to
exist. Hebrew and derived from the word for friend. I am going to do just that,
and surround myself with these beautiful friends that give support and
nourishment when my flower wilts. I am going to walk through the conservatory
and tell the other flowers how much I love them, as I have hoped someone would
do for me. I am going to burn more incense for every day’s worth of fresh
starts. I am going to dance to fun music. I am going to sing in every uber,
even, and especially, when I don’t know the lyrics. I am going to need this
security with myself as I take on a whole new life, and carve out a different
path, but I think I can, I think I can, I think I can. Mr.
Obama taught me that.
I think you can, too, 2018. You can be our year.
Signing off,
Ruth Elizabeth Zolla