158. What happens when you reach the biggest milestone that you set for yourself?

Am I a writer? Or am I delusional?

After two back-to-back weeks of English-speaking visitors spending time with us at home, my brain wants to rebel against me for forcing it to speak a language we hardly ever use anymore. I want to think in Spanish today, which means it would be easier to let the words flow onto the screen as they appear in my mind, but for some reason, I want to write in English. Thinking in Spanish and writing in English simultaneously sound impossible, but they’re not.

I have two versions of myself living inside my brain, and although I don’t know the science behind it, I know that English Emily is one person and Spanish Emily is another. My bilingual friends are lucky enough to meet both Emilys and know that each version is different, but other people, funnily enough, like my family, only know the English Emily.

These thoughts are probably on my mind because my friend María told me about a study someone was doing on bilingual people, so I decided to participate. Filling out forms and getting asked questions about my brain? I could never say no. Anyway, one of the questions in this study was “how you do you feel when speaking English?” and “how you do you feel when speaking Spanish?” I guess we could say those two questions have stuck with me, and I’m hoping that when I meet the person conducting the study in a video call next week, I’ll be able to ask them about these questions because I want scientific answers that don’t come from Google.

When I say that I can think in Spanish and write in English, you’re probably imagining me translating the words while typing, but that’s not what I mean. What I mean is that I’m allowing the Spanish Emily to exist up in brain headquarters while the English Emily produces the words and types.

Spanish Emily was created in Andalucía, in the south of Spain, in a very small town. I learned Spanish in a classroom full of Andalusian children and Andalusian teachers. There was a lot of shouting and specific phrases and behaviors that got ingrained in my brain and, over the years, made up the Spanish version of myself. So letting the Spanish me sit at the desk while the English one types is a sort of fifty-fifty balance between the two people living inside my brain.

This being said, no matter what language I think or speak in, I can’t find the words to explain the following:

Whenever I read this, my mind goes blank, and I find it hard to think or feel anything. My brain tries to imagine what one thousand people look like, but I have no idea. Were there that many people in my high school growing up? My limited math abilities and trusty iPhone calculator tell me there were fewer than five hundred people in my high school, which freaks me out. I was scared to give a class presentation in front of twenty-five kids I’d gone to school with since primary school—how could one thousand people reading my newsletter not feel terrifying?

Two or three years ago, I imagined this milestone moment feeling life-changing, and a big part of me never believed it would even happen. I never thought that one thousand people would be interested in reading what I have to say, but more than that, I always thought I had to be a much better writer to deserve this many subscribers. I think we humans do that a lot. Before we start something new, we think we have to be experts in the matter to get anywhere, and we’re so mistaken.

If I had listened to that idea three years ago, I never would have started. I would have taken writing course after writing course, gone to class after class, read hundreds of books on how to be a better writer, and spent hours thinking about what I’d do if I were a better writer… But I never would have started because my mind would have constantly moved the goalposts of what a writer looks like. I don’t know if I’m a writer; I feel like I am, and I like to think that I am, but I’ll probably still never say it out loud because it feels cringey.

I don’t have a goal anymore because I’ve achieved the biggest goal I’d set for myself, and I don’t know what to do now. I’ll keep writing and continue to publish every Monday, but what’s my next unreachable milestone? Does setting 2,000 subscribers as a milestone feel as impossible and as hard as the first 1,000? It’s all so strange. We put so much pressure and so much expectation on reaching our somewhat impossible future goals, but when they actually come true and materialize, life feels the same. Don’t get me wrong, my head is exploding at the fact that one thousand people are subscribed to my newsletter, and I’m extremely proud of myself and grateful for every choice I made in the past that brought me here, but my life hasn’t changed within seconds of reaching the 1k mark.

@afroofruits

I’ve reached the “finish line,” so I’m now able to look back on these past three years in a different way. I can see myself sitting on the white kitchen stools in Barcelona setting up my Substack account. I can see myself sticking pomelo stickers all over Barcelona every time we left the house. I can see myself designing the first-ever pomelo merch and being blown away by how many people ordered hoodies and t-shirts. I can see myself sitting on the wooden armchair C made, creating the pomelo Book Club. I can see myself in La Rioja huddled against the radiator in the kitchen, listening to the teacher talk in the first-ever writing course I took. I can see myself in Alejandra Parejos’ writing course, feeling what it was like to write through a character for the first time and crying with joy after the Zoom ended. I can see myself walking through Barcelona’s empty streets at night, telling C that it had been over a year and I’d not reached 100 subscribers, thinking I never would. I can see myself replying to strangers’ messages without knowing that three years later, they’d be my best friends. I can see myself designing the second round of pomelo merch and realizing now how hard life was at that moment. I can see myself waking up on a sunny Monday morning to pomelo’s third merch drop and C writing me a letter a couple of days later because of how blown away and proud he was of me. I can see myself prioritizing this newsletter week after week for the past three years, and every single one of those weekly decisions is what brought me to where I am today. It took a lot of time, a lot of practice, a lot of self-belief, and a lot of swimming in my own lane without looking up to reach this finish line I set for myself. It also took a lot of imposter syndrome beating, but nobody ever said a bad word about this newsletter, and that’s what also brought me to where I am today. I did 90% of the work, yes, but there’s always another 10% that is just as important.

I’ve fantasized many times about what I’d write in the acknowledgment page of my book when published, and whenever an author writes something more than “thanks to my editor and my partner,” I go crazy in a great way. So if we play delulu for a second and imagine that this is my page, I’d like to say thank you to a few people.

C, thank you for always thinking that I’m the best writer you’ve ever read and for being my first supporter in everything. Seeing you get up extra early on a Monday to read Pomelo in bed is the best start to my week.

Mamá, gracias por decirme que tenía un don cuando ni siquiera sabía lo que era escribir.

Tato, thanks for never reading a pomelo unless your dad tells you over the phone that I wrote about you and also always being surprised when I actually accomplish something and buying me Tony’s Chocolonely bars.

Ángela, gracias por haber sentido curiosidad aquel día que viste un texto mío en Instagram y por suscribirte a pesar de no ser experta en inglés. Has hecho un esfuerzo semanal por entender qué pasaba por la mente de tu amiga, y a día de hoy ya sabes que yo sin ti no soy yo.

Gema, thank you for telling your friends in Madrid that I was a writer while I tried to believe you, dying inside. You helped me believe in myself because you showed me that you truly did always think I was a writer.

Isa, gracias por unirte al club de lectura hace tres años y por querer quedar conmigo y con Gema en Madrid para enseñarme que tres tías chulas juntas podían convertirse en las mejores amigas sin una sola palabra fea hacia la otra. Gracias por escribirme correos y por ser, durante una época, mi editora de pomelos en español.

Carlota, gracias por apuntarte a un bombardeo conmigo y por ser mi mano derecha con los proyectos creativos y en la vida. Tu risa y tu TOC con Google Calendar viven en mi corazón rent-free.

Laurent, gracias por abrir tu corazón solamente teniendo en común que nos encantaba el color verde y por convertirte en familia.

Soph, thank you for joining the Sea Moss Girlies Geneva group chat at the exact time I did and connecting on Instagram. I really did find the needle in the haystack oceans apart.

Mum and Dad, thank you for never cutting my wings even when you had no idea what I was doing.

Titos, thank you for reading every single pomelo before anyone else on the planet because you had a head start with the time zone difference. It’s crazy to think of all the places you’ve read my essays.

Belinda, gracias por ser tan buena conmigo y por darme fuerza en los momentos en los que no sabía qué quería de la escritura.

Substack amigas and internet amigas, thank you for bringing back the old blog vibes and for showing so much love and support. The word “community” is overused nowadays, but you all really do make this online floating place feel like home.

To all the people that read this newsletter in the shadows, like, comment, or message me: t-h-a-n-k-y-o-u. There have been so many of you that have shown your support, and I know who all of you are; I see you, and it doesn’t go unappreciated.

And last but not least, Emily, thank you for living week to week for the past three years and not letting your thoughts get too far ahead of you. Thank you for focusing on what felt right for you and for always being coherente con lo que piensas y haces, as Dora says. Because that’s the only way you can’t go wrong.

I may be able to do 90% of it by myself, but I’ll always need that other 10% for the circle to be complete.

I have a vivid memory engraved in my mind of my family driving to the airport, with me sitting in the back of the car, earphones in, listening to an Ed Sheeran song. I was obsessed with his music, and for some unknown reason, one particular sentence stuck with me: “Success is nothing if you have no one left to share it with.” As a teenager, I didn’t have any real successes to share, but this idea still felt important and, in a way, haunted me.

When I was deciding whether to leave in the list thanking people at the end of this essay, that quote came to mind and reminded me why I should keep it. Without these people, I wouldn’t be where I am today—each one has influenced me in different ways, leading me to this moment. They deserve to know how much I appreciate and love them. There’s no shame in acknowledging that while one person might win the “medal”, there’s a whole team behind them, pushing and encouraging them. And these people are my team.