I met my younger self for coffee this morning.

She was 10 minutes late. I was 10 minutes early. I drive myself now, so I’m in charge of my own time. 

She wore her short, straight hair back with a sports headband. I wore my long, wavy hair naturally — it’s my favorite style.

She ordered a hot chocolate; I ordered a refresher. She never tried coffee; I drink coffee when I crave it, but usually stick to a refresher. She loved the sweetness of the hot chocolate, but I find it important to watch what I eat and drink. 

She wore her favorite black Nike basketball shorts with her favorite gray Dallas Cowboys t-shirt. I wore an Alo matching sweatsuit. I still love the Dallas Cowboys, but the shirt now collects dust. 

She wore her beaded friendship bracelet on her left hand with her gatpat dhaga (religious bracelet) on her right. I wore my three silver bracelets — my permanent bracelet, my Tiffany & Co. bracelet and the bracelet that my best friend got me for my 17th birthday — on my left hand, with my gatpat dhaga still on my right. 

She told me she was struggling to finish an essay for school. I told her I’m a writer now. She asked me what I could possibly write about. I told her I find peace in writing about the people I love and the experiences that have shaped me. 

She told me she was late because she couldn’t skip her daily “chucker” (drive around the neighborhood) with Dada (grandpa). I smiled and said “Me too.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her I go on “chuckers” by myself after each time that I visit his grave. 

She told me her cousins kept strangling her with hugs. I told her to hold onto them even tighter. She questioned why I was focused on telling her to not take things for granted. I told her all that I have lost.

She told me Dada’s waiting outside in the car. I told her how I learned how to drive in his car after he passed away. She asked me how I can live in a world without him. I told her about all the people who entered my life when he left it. Even though he isn’t physically here, I find him in the little things. 

She told me Nanu (grandma) was on bed-rest due to a car accident in Houston. I told her Nanu is the first person to ask me how my day is when I get home from school.

She told me her parents teased her for crying about everything. I told her I rarely cry in front of people now. 

She told me her cousin’s boyfriend called her “she she” as a nickname. I told her his 2-year-old son calls me that, but he can’t make the “sh” sound so it sounds more like “tee tee.”

She told me she doesn’t understand the airplane oxygen mask rule: put your own mask on before helping others. I told her I understand it, but will always make the conscious decision of helping those around me first. 

She told me she didn’t know who her real friends were because she doesn’t feel worthy of anyone. I handed her my phone and showed her my wallpaper filled with the people who love me back. I told her they don’t care about what I can do for them, they just love me for who I am. 

She told me our grandma feeds her eggs for breakfast every morning. I told her I skip breakfast, but every time I eat eggs, it’s still from our grandma’s hands. 

She wondered how I made it this far. I told her to hold on a little longer and she’d find her reason. 

She told me she had to go home. I told her home is the people we love, not the walls we call a house. 

We hugged; it was awkward. She hated hugs. I love them from the right people. As she walked out of the coffee shop, she waved goodbye without a second glance. 

She won’t think about me often; I think about her every day. 

I hope we meet for coffee again.