Written by Abegail Caranto

change is such a positive word that I instantly think of beginnings. 

of the sunrise. 

of a new day. 

and of hope. 

but that night, just before the clock strikes 12, I was enveloped by fear of change. suddenly, it felt like an ending to who I am. it was twilight and I was rushing to catch some more light. 

change felt like a series of suffocating questions that I have no answer to yet.

what part of me would I shed this time, just to be a bit different from who I was before? 

what portion of my skin will I exfoliate to allow for the creation of something new?

what promise will I make—try to make, and fail to keep—this time?

— 

I vividly remember when I was nine years old at that certain playground (that has already been turned into a gym). I was standing beside the middle swing, which is painted in blue, unlike the others that are yellow. I was wary, guarded because you see that certain playground that I was in, the one that is two blocks away from my grandmother’s house, the only one in town, is nested with caterpillars. 

I was afraid of caterpillars. 

Terrified even. 

But I found myself face to face with a tiny creature, green, with diagonal lines, looking so ugly. And in whatever fate was playing me at that moment, or whatever is the ingredient of the cookie my aunt gave me, I found myself fascinated with that caterpillar. 

curious. 

I saw it, as it crawled, struggled to go up in a tree and form its famous chrysalis. I watched it hang upside down, sway until it is enclosed with its solid covering. Just waiting for change to transpire. Just waiting for the time, in which it is ready to be a different version of itself. 

curious. 

So after three days, I came back, with my curious hands, and curious scissors. I thought maybe that ugly creature is ready to emerge as beautiful. It is ready to have colorful wings. 

And there, from there, I realized that it is not in any way my decision to force open a pupa. I have no right to break apart something, to push to be ready. I have no right to hold something sharp that would cut chances just because I feel like it, or it seems at that time to be the right time.

did you know, that butterflies need to struggle to break their way out so that they can fly? the emergence of some is even dependent on the surroundings: when it feels safer, when it feels that it would matter, and when the environment is ready for its change. 

—

So, on that new year’s eve, I was hanging upside down, swaying slowly. having no resolutions. 

Perhaps, I am still inside my chrysalis. One that I created a year ago when everything is stumbling, moving too fast, or motionless. I am still inside, searching and determining pieces of me that I would change or keep. 

Perhaps I am just waiting for the time when I am ready to be a different version of myself. 

But for now, let me be. I would fly when I have fully accepted all the intricacies and flaws of my invisible wings.

And you, you can break free whenever you want to and not because of other people’s scissors. 

Change is constant, but so are you until whenever you want to be.  

(there is nothing wrong with staying the same).