Kisses YDNEW
Personal work
What a good day. I was 11, and P. and I were officially dating. Years earlier, I had sent him an anonymous letter telling him I was in love with him, signing off with ‘Greetings, YDNEW’. The giggling that erupted from the school desks later that week told me I was no longer anonymous. P. knew I was in love with him, and so did the entire class. The news that we were officially “a thing” reached me via his friend R., who had cycled by my house especially to tell me.
My sister and I were drawing at the kitchen table. Our tongues clenched between our teeth, the markers moved vigorously across A4 sheets of paper from the fax machine. I sang a Spice Girls hit, softly at first, then belting it out. I had a boyfriend and was in an excellent mood.
“Could you please stop that?” my sister snapped at me. I looked up from my drawing and tilted my head slightly back. “Why?” I asked. “Because you’re singing off-key.” I had never heard my own voice before; back then, it was still rare to have video recordings of yourself. Until that moment, I had believed I was blessed with a golden voice. The drawing session came to an end. Upstairs, I lay on my bed and thought about my boyfriend, whom I hadn’t seen in four weeks because it was summer vacation.
What a good day. I was 11, and P. and I were officially dating. Years earlier, I had sent him an anonymous letter telling him I was in love with him, signing off with ‘Greetings, YDNEW’. The giggling that erupted from the school desks later that week told me I was no longer anonymous. P. knew I was in love with him, and so did the entire class. The news that we were officially “a thing” reached me via his friend R., who had cycled by my house especially to tell me.
My sister and I were drawing at the kitchen table. Our tongues clenched between our teeth, the markers moved vigorously across A4 sheets of paper from the fax machine. I sang a Spice Girls hit, softly at first, then belting it out. I had a boyfriend and was in an excellent mood.
“Could you please stop that?” my sister snapped at me. I looked up from my drawing and tilted my head slightly back. “Why?” I asked. “Because you’re singing off-key.” I had never heard my own voice before; back then, it was still rare to have video recordings of yourself. Until that moment, I had believed I was blessed with a golden voice. The drawing session came to an end. Upstairs, I lay on my bed and thought about my boyfriend, whom I hadn’t seen in four weeks because it was summer vacation.
All images, prints & illustrations © Wendy Denissen