Memoirs of a Past Life

That's 'Cause I Used to Be Young— The Misadventures & Perils of Friendship

In honor of Youthquake’s recent, official third anniversary— and coinciding with Valentine’s Day— it’s a step back through the time warp, inspired by Celine Song’s Past Lives. Get into it below.

Schiaparelli Haute Couture Fall 2014. Tumblr.

Celine Song’s directorial debut, Past Lives (2023). A24.

Finding and experiencing something as simple as an understanding and accepting friendship within our lifetime can be like the needle in a haystack type of rarity. Having had close friends throughout life, nothing quite stayed with me more than the profound friendships with seemingly long-lasting durability I once had. Only having sisters, I secretly always wanted a brother— we’re the only family in our extended Mexican-American with only all girls— so it was always a coincidence that in my late teens to early twenties, I’d have three gay men in my life that became so important to me that my family still considers them as such. Even if I only rarely speak to one of them, the devastation of a decade-plus-long friendship breakup is a different kind of heartbreak— let alone the earth-shattering loss of three crucial ones in that year of unprecedented times.
As the fates would have it, the beautifully intricate woven tapestry that was created while keeping me safe and soaring throughout the years of adolescent turbulence and alienated darkness of my twenties was later pulled from underneath me— from underneath us all.

Still, living in the aftermath of my friendship breakups, the years have been an emotional rehabilitation of obvious proportions. It’s been an estrangement that led to self-empowerment after a then cinematic-worthy breakdown, of course. My heart, just as much as theirs, was understandably shattered by the mutual decision to break up our chosen little family. Yet, no matter the mutually assured destruction, I look back fondly at those happier family times because, like Liam Gallagher said, “We’re all such cosmic things, innit?”
I continuously mourn the loss of such cosmic chosen familial connections even though I can’t say that I’ve attempted to mend all three friendships. As grief took its toll on me after losing my brother-in-law and Abuelo back-to-back, it was entirely too difficult to face a previous part of my life. Seemingly, the social construct of time seems to have smoothed over such harsh ripples, whereas before— I haven’t had my heart open to the opportunity— until very recently, and I find myself going forward cautiously optimistic but always guarded.

Except, as distraught as I was about my chosen family breakup, it was the third friendship breakup that left me stunned and haunts me most. Until recently, my vulnerability wasn’t something that I usually share. So, given that I was inexplicably the most vulnerable I’ve ever been within this specific friendship, I held it fiercely close to my chest like my other few sacred connections. This particular friendship was different than the aforementioned chosen family; this one seemed random at the time due to our differences, but now I’m certain that it was emotionally kismet for whatever it indefinably was— a star-crossed friendship of two mixed-up kids growing up in a wild world.
Never expecting to meet someone as we do, I somehow managed to unexpectedly befriend a fellow struggling soul looking for their place in adulthood. Oddly enough, it was friendly and familiar from the very start, almost like we’d been friends before. It felt safe despite being total strangers, and it was such a peculiar thing that I shrugged it off at the time since I was recently post-breakup and doing whatever I finally desired— certainly, not looking for anything other than being friends.

Time went on just as the years did, and our friendship only evolved; there was only one way to describe it as emotional magnets of sincere affinity despite a vast difference in so much. Sharing a mutual fondness for pop culture or the existentialism of life and everywhere in between, somehow, this friendship became an important part of daily life. Speaking often and regularly, we became confidantes and support systems for each other during a time when we both needed and deserved it most. Completely contrasting from my other friendships, including my then-best friend of 12+ years— this bond was as precious and practically neck-and-neck at the time. Without discounting my previous friendship and love for my former besties, the chemistry and love in friendship were separate due to our rooted history and shared trauma.
Nevertheless, much like the moon, we had our bright and dark cycles— losing touch on and off through the years. However, there once was silent support during our quiet periods of separation, but we always picked up where we left off due to understanding. Until the texts were fewer and fewer; meanwhile, the phone calls stopped before that. This one hurt the absolute most, even if my intuition tried to warn me about each heartbreak— I knew emotional desolation was imminent as it didn’t end necessarily— it was just suddenly gone. This particularly detailed tapestry pull was the one that rattled my core as I let it overtake me as I later drowned in denial.

Still unsure of what went wrong and thinking that I’d be met halfway somewhere down the line, I managed to try and extend several olive branches throughout the years. However, it hasn’t ever worked in my favor as the expectation was once the root of my heartache, and now, those countless branches have long withered away. Time continues as it does, and I’ve moved on from the former lives I once knew and loved dearly.
Breaking free of my fight-or-flight and from latching onto the memories of a specific past life where I curiously and unexpectedly gave my heart away, I tried to mend a mystifying yet essential connection that kept us returning and confiding during our most chaotic selves. Everything that once nourished me eventually emotionally destroyed me, and yet it was an unexpected catalyst that has taught me more than I’d ever anticipated. Realizing that the tiny tiffs and bigger riffs had snowballed into animosity and probably resentment was emotionally outgrowing each other.

Swiftly learning that without healing what’s hurt us, we’ll emotionally bleed onto the people who didn’t pierce us. My anger and heartache were unchecked until a screaming match and one of a few heated arguments with my little sister, who quickly gathered me by calling out my then-constant misdirected anger and deep waves of bereavement. Grief counseling, therapy, and applying a once obnoxious ‘California sober’ attitude through many right and wrong turns have led me to such an unexpected healing odyssey that’s, fortunately, worked out in my favor as I’m mastering the art of letting go graciously.
Rejection was a cloaked redirection of perpetual rebirth. Fathoming that I’ve been slowly and progressively regaining my heart back after such a loss, figuratively and literally, has been exactly needed. There’s no need to wonder if my heart is still open because it is thanks to the grueling emotional work and the life-changing realization that life can be as endearing as it is ruthless. While dating has never been or ever will be a priority— not when it’s slim pickings out here in this human-made dumpster fire of a beautiful planet— I’ve reached a more grounded perspective than once before. Still, feeling more like myself than I have in years, being or remaining single isn’t something that’s ever bothered me— I also feel like a contrary woman from the mixed-up semi-adult of my late twenties or even whoever I was in my earlier thirties. Not to say I still don’t have it all together, because who the hell actually does without hiring staff or added help? Life is never exactly as we want it to be.

Hidden rivalries, emotional guessing games, and incomprehension disconnect are a thing of the past for all of my friendships. Plus, I’ve never been into training, and I don’t like the mothering concept toward my assumed beloved whatsoever. Perchance, my certain past life and young adult love did understand me more than I knew— however, that doesn’t mean they didn’t understand how to love me or how to accept its sincerity. I’m self-aware enough to know that I’m an intimidating brunette with previous emotional abandonment issues, and I’m very close with my judgemental but well-meaning, overprotective, deeply religious Mexican-American family in the South— of course, I was sharply guarded and heavily emotionally armed. In the midst of all that, even my cutting wit and utter nonsense, and through my formidable defenses— they managed to get stealthily by— to be loved is to be forever changed.
Despite my assumed or misconstrued ice queen demeanor at times, it’s usually my Mejia genetically blessed bold eyebrows that tend to initiate a Resting Bitching Face. Except I’m terribly shier than most realize but affectionate to those that matter the most to me. Although it never helped that I tend to observe more than participate until there’s a sense of recognized security— clearly, my zodiac being a crab is more than spot on as I continuously struggle with social anxiety. However, it’s nowhere near how it used to be.

Despite clear admiration, there was always an unsteadiness woven into the textile fabric of our friendship. Not always reciprocal, my investment in our friendship felt more assured than theirs— maybe it was my all-consuming misconstrued unhealthy concept of love that warped me and overwhelmed them; either way, it didn’t fare too well for either. Being a direct result of a puzzling marriage but caring home always left me romantically maladjusted, except no matter no matter how micro/macro or emotional, cheating isn’t ever tolerated. Neither is placing me fighting for a competing spot I didn’t have or want— I’ll never be anyone’s second place and certainly not a Camilla Parker-Bowles waiting in on the sidelines for recognition. We should never have to insist on someone who continuously overlooks our worth, and often, we want people who won’t give. It’s a bizarre and undeserving tango that you don’t even realize until after stepping away the veil’s been removed— especially when someone becomes the one person we go to the most yet gives nothing of what we expect in return— I found this to be true with my emotionally deregulated parents and also in my love life.
The same can probably also be said of my former chosen brothers toward me— I haven’t yet been mentally prepared thus far, though the idea’s been intuitively preparing me for what lies ahead. I understandably knew myself and simply needed time away to hibernate in my hermit shell until I felt safe once again. Friendships will always evolve and take many different forms, not in a bad way— nonetheless, I previously hoped that by now, it’d all evolve into a more positive path. Maybe a tiny contrition, naturally. Never desiring groveling or a long-winded mea culpa from anyone, realistically, we sometimes don’t get the closure we desire. Learning how to accept that is the tricky part.

Alas, life went on because it must, which always helps in the long run. Until the time feels right, anything less than what I deserve isn’t worth examining. Still, after such colossal heartache, nothing but admiration remains. Currently, I wish present and much-deserved future life successes and happiness toward those who aren’t in my life and still mean so much to me— only differently as time changed us all. My losing emotional battles might have left me figuratively shaken and deeply scarred. Yet, I still take in all of the honeyed yet conflicting memories— all of the good, even the bad, and especially that once home-like feeling of these previous soul-mates is eternally cherished for the experiences they were for my young heart. My mixed-up self had an abandoned heart that was later full of such love by earthly kings among men who treated me kindly and sweetly. Not perfectly every time, yet despite it all, I know that I walk away still with those bittersweet memories of formative true love in whichever way it was at the time.

Via Pinterest.

It’s not Youthquake without featuring my great love— playlists— surely, there’s a dedicated playlist for every type of Valentine’s. Embedded playlist links aren’t currently working, apologies.

💌 Apple Music uses HERE. Spotify, HERE.

My advice to anyone younger or anyone needing to hear it, enjoy the utter misery yet simple joyful pleasure of singledom. There should never be added pressure when fully investing in yourself, especially toward dating. I knew early on that regardless of sentiments— investing in yourself is priceless every single time and ascends anyone exclaiming love yet not acting on those claims— I can love myself better than anyone who professed it for me but never showed it. So, re-aligning myself to where and what I want will always outweigh wasted potential.
Promising myself at a young age that I’d love myself with the same intensity and devotion that I give to others since I knew that IF I were to ever give the traditionalism of marriage a try, it’d be with someone I mutually adored and respected as well as like and love as a person. Growing up surrounded by mostly unhealthy and explosive marriages as prime examples of what I never wanted, I witnessed a lack of romance among couples but plenty of resentful disdain due to their emotional and overall incompatibility. Akin to Jo March, I live and die for the ones I love because that is my way— so by extension, I’d want the same in love.

Treasuring alone time teaches you so much and is a valuable yet overlooked experience— we never know when a relationship can blossom or transpire, and we may not be single for a while or at all ever again. While love is commodified or manipulated by industrialists and capitalism— it can also be quite punk and radical as fuck. Things aren’t ever clear or how we expect, and eventually, we’ll get to where we should— regardless, for the time being, we’re here and here can be quite messy but pretty wonderful.

Con Amor,

Naomi x