While sitting directly across from me at a coffeehouse, an acquaintance, and a brief one at that, looks up at me and randomly states, “Don’t change.” Those words, those two simple syllables took me by surprise then, but now, months later, has continuously replayed itself, silently to others but loud enough for me to hear, in my head.

At fourteen years old I received some unexpected, devastating news. My male cousin, my first best friend, the yin to my yang, was diagnosed with cancer. The news shook me to the core. I sat across from my mom at our kitchen table in stillness for what seemed like a lifetime, but eventually I found the strength to move, to walk outside to my backyard, where I just kept encircling my childhood pool; the same pool that for years my cousin and I played in on the daily like carefree children do. But there came a point where I abruptly stopped walking, looked straight up to the dark sky with the full moon shining, and I voiced, “Let it be me that’s sick. Not him. He has too much to offer this world.”

There’s so many of us that believe we are nothing. We can see the stardom others possess but look at ourselves as if that stardom skipped a generation. We see everyone else’s potential, contribution to this world, and look at ourselves as if we are just ordinary. Non-exceptional. Just here. The night I gazed up into the clouds and voiced my sentiments of feeling incomparable is my first recollection of feeling that I was valueless.

I will never understand why some of us, without any trauma, grow up believing that we are less than. It’s a mental battle that we, for the most part, fight alone, and it becomes a silent warfare. Some of us can break free, become victorious and win the battle of low self-esteem, whereas others never get released.

My cousin fought for his life. In fact, he fought for years. It always seemed so cruel to me how he just turned eighteen, had gotten the rite of passage to finally be labeled as an adult in our society, where the world was to be his oyster at its highest peak, but then he had to rapidly pivot, put on his survival gear and try to overcome the odds to just breathe. There were uncountable moments where I just wanted to save him or step in for him, as I saw him literally shrinking; losing weight, his voice weakening, and his physical strength diminishing. I wanted to feel his pain.

Fast forward, and my cousin is 20 plus years cancer free. As I predicted, he is a shining star. He became a director of an independent film and has acquired his doctorate degree. His endeavors and pursuits are never minimal but rather extensive, and he has accomplished each and every one he’s attempted. His light is strong, empowering and inviting, and I know amid all that’s under his belt, he still has a deeper mark to make on this world. And here’s where I chime in and reassure myself and reassure you: Just like my ambitious cousin, you and I also have a bigger mark to make in this world. Your existence, as mine and his, are meant for something.

Reflecting on the spoken words of “don’t change” has reignited my soul, awakened my spirit and has allowed me to appreciate that I belong. That I am who I am to be. That my decisions are what’s best for me. That my existence, my growth plays a role somehow, someway in this present day. That I am not just breathing, but I am being seen.

To my cousin that overcame and continues to overcome any hurdle life constructs, I love you, and I am fixated with the light you beam. Your fight for life, in essence, made me fight for mine. Granted, I didn’t have to fight for my life to live, but I had to fight the misconception that I didn’t deserve to live. Your inspiration has evolved into being my motivation.

And to the man that spontaneously and genuinely uttered the words, “don’t change,” I thank you. Unbeknownst to you and I, those words would carry me through a recent, difficult time where I doubted my growth and my personal decision. I truly believe that I was meant to meet you, even if for a short season, even if just to hear the two words you graciously verbalized. For we all know words can shatter a soul, but with this testament I hope it’s realized how words, even truly unexpected ones, can also heal one…