The Pro(B)logue: An Ode to What Will Be...

I was twelve years old when I started my first ever blog, ‘Cup of Joe(ly)’. I had just read Zoe Sugg’s Girl Online and envisioned the next two weeks of my life full of handsome band members in flannel shirts and ripped jeans, all falling swiftly in love with me and my naturally beach wavy blonde hair always in an effortlessly assembled bun atop my head. Not to mention all the witty comebacks I had at the ready for my primary school bully when I’d roll up in a matt black limo with Harry Styles by my side (2012 Harry Styles, with the poofy hair). Short story shorter, my dreams never came true, and ‘Cup of Joe(ly)’ never went live.

I’m not usually one to try again. Like my mum, I prefer to leave things in the past. Some might call it an unhealthy coping mechanism; I call it survival. Most of my childhood memories are distorted, like a low-quality video on Facebook, but that doesn’t mean they were bad memories, and I’m not saying I had a bad childhood. That’s what I used to believe when I was younger, but growing up has me realising just how privileged little Joely was.  During my first year at Cardiff University (and my last, that was a disaster), I sent my mum over forty voice recordings in the span of 10 months. Most of them were hardly audible with all the slurring and sobbing from a terrible night out drinking, but the gist of it was this; “Thank you for all you’ve done for me. I love you.” She always used to laugh it off, but it had me thinking… As a kid, I never said “I love you” enough, and I certainly didn’t say it when I was a teenager. But I think I’ve started to say it a little too much, maybe so much so it’s lost some weight. But then again, if you’re saying it to someone you truly love, and truly mean it, does it matter how many times you say it? If it means you’re truly trying, why would that matter at all?

So, here is me trying again. Here is me saying “I love you” to the people in my life whenever I can, not because I’m scared they will die or leave me, only because I can. Here is me picking up the phone and calling the pharmacy before I freak myself out and forget about it. Here is me climbing that ladder to change the lightbulb without worrying I’ll fall to my death. Here is me saying yes to brunch with friends and the occasional author talks on a wild Friday night. Here is me going back to the gym. Here is me opening up that one word document covered in pixelated dust and writing again. Here is me trying.