No, I will not make you cry. I have been crying far too often, and I do not want anyone to share that feeling. Believe it or not, I love you. Yes you, specifically, even though I do not know who you are. I love you because of the way you love other people, and the way you want the world to heal. I want you to cry some happy tears, let out the emotion that has been bottled in one sigh of relief. You are okay, you are safe, and you are happy. Choose to write a book. Choose to take a nap. Choose to indulge in the silly little things that make you happy and do not give it another thought. This is your life and you are not obliged to live it the way others want you to. It is okay if you don’t feel happy, but you are. I know in my heart that you can feel the fur of soft animals, taste the beautiful offspring of a days worth of cooking, and smell the sweetness of a Yankee candle store. I know you can feel.

Food. I hate food with a burning passion. But I also love food, but it has to be a specific kind, with a specific smell, a specific texture. Ever since I could think my mind has been plagued by overwhelming dread over nausea and the bone-chilling effects of being in the presence of a food smell I could not cope with. If someone in the same room as me eats tuna, or an egg, or chicken, or virtually anything, I must allow the room to air out until I can feel safe to return. It's so stupid, I know I have issues but there doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it, so I just hate food.

Cold. That is all I can feel. Or at least, that is what I thought I felt. My mind had a thick fog, blurring my senses and thoughts. Where was I? The only image I could conjure was that of a man with light eyes, holding a large syringe, as well as tubing that ran along the floor, as far as I could see. The entire scene was distorted, because... glass. Yes! Glass. A thick layer of glass had been separating me from this man. Slowly, my memories began to surface. My name is Jillian Brooks. I am an aspiring biologist, buried in student loan debt. I have no family, and only a few friends. I gave up my body for science. I... I died. I thought I did. I must have, otherwise, I would be awake instead of trapped in my own mind. This is certainly what I imagined death to feel like.

However, if I were dead, I would not feel cold. Would I? No. I would not feel anything at all. Surely I would not feel drops of cool mist condensing on my brow, or the soft puff of air at my fingertips, seemingly from a vent. What the hell, I am definitely not dead. By the minute I felt myself creeping closer into consciousness. My fingertips regained motion, and slowly the rest of my body followed. I opened my eyes and knew that this meant one thing, the cryogenics had worked. I was in the future, or the present I should say.

While surveying my surroundings, I noticed the room outside of my glass tank had changed, it looked brighter, newer, with objects -I could not even begin to guess their purpose- lining sleek wooden cabinets. Carefully, I kicked the door of the capsule open and emerged. As I popped out I saw three women in lab coats, looking at me as if I were a ghost.

“It worked,” one of the women whispered.

I scanned the building in a daze, taking in what seemed to be an entirely new structure. Had they really reconstructed this entire facility? Or had they moved my tank? That’s a really silly thing to focus on considering the situation but it seemed that the condition of the room was my only clue to how long I had been asleep. “What year is it?” I finally asked.

“It is 2019.”

“Who are you?”

“Students at NYU, we volunteered at the cryogenics research department for extra credit.”

“Students? Students for what?”

“The STEM program of course.”

“Stem... you mean science?” I asked with a sudden realization that perhaps by this time women were allowed to participate in such studies.

“Yes. Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics- S.T.E.M.” The woman seemed confused by my expression, then understood. “You were from the ’50s, a lot has changed since then.”

The three women began to explain to me the world we now lived in, from social politics to technological innovations. She was right, a lot has changed since 1952. One of them, Margaret, ran up the stairs to alert the advisor of their discovery. The other two took me through the process of how I was woken. It was a lot to take in; the world now seemed like a dream.

The entire day left my head spinning. It was difficult to focus on the information they were telling me when everything around me seemed to be moving in hyperspeed. My eyes were bugging out of my head, and I could not help it! Walking around New York City felt like a science fiction novel. Skyscrapers, digital billboards, “fast food” establishments, it was all insane. I became curiouser and curiouser. Once the sun began to set, I was brought back to the lab. I learned how the city generally worked, with subways and credit cards, revolving around one’s ability to gain capital. That was one thing I was disappointed in, even with all of the strides made towards women’s equality, the United States still has not found a way to improve economic divides. Some argue that it has actually gotten worse. When I agreed to cryosleep, it was with the promise of debt forgiveness, but now in the world I have woken up to I may just fall back into the same hole I started in. A bummer if I do say so myself.

On a lighter note, I have noticed a major change in clothing. Everyone seemed to be more casual, and women were now empowered to show more skin if they wanted to. That was always one thing that was unfair in my time, men could remove their shirts after getting warm in the sun, but god forbid I wore a skirt above my knee or pants while I worked.

I would say today has been leaps and bounds more bizarre than I had anticipated.