Growing up in front of the eyes of the public isn’t something Malia Obama is not familiar with. Being the daughter of the former president of the United States, Barak Obama, she has spent her life under the limelight, and even today, the media is interested in her every move.
The 25-year-old just presented her directorial debut, The Heart, at the Sundance Film Festival. In the Sundance Institute’s “Meet the Artist” spotlight video, Malia Obama revealed she was going by the name Malia Ann, thus ditching her moniker.
Malia, who was born Malia Ann Obama on July 4, 1998, has her middle name honoring her paternal grandmother, who died from ovarian cancer at the age of 52 in 1995, and now, she has dropped her last name in favor of her middle name.
Speaking of the short film for which she served as both director and screenwriter, Malia said. “This is an odd little story, somewhat of fable, about a man grieving the death of his mother after she leaves him an unusual request in her will.” Further, in the YouTube clip of the short film, she wrote, “The film is about lost objects and lonely people and forgiveness and regret, but I also think it works hard to uncover where tenderness and closeness can exist in these things.”
The Heat isn’t her first attempt into the profession. Previously, the Harvard grad worked in the writers’ room on Donald’s Amazon Prime show Swarm, co-writing the fifth episode, “Girl, Bye.”
“She’s a very professional person,” Swarm‘s co-creator Janine Nabers said Malia in a January 2023 Vanity Fair interview. “She’s an incredible writer and artist. She made significant contributions… She’s very, truly committed to her craft.”
Swarm‘s executive producer Stephen Glover also spoke of Malia. “We can’t be easy on her just because she’s the [former] President’s daughter,” he told Vanity Fair. “No, she is really down-to-earth and cool. So it’s not an issue at all.”
Malia Obama isn’t the first celebrity who made the decision to ditch their family name. Other celebs have done that before, including Nicolas Cage, who changed his last name from Coppola, and Angelina Jolie, who dropped her surname, Voight.
For her directorial debut, Malia looked cozy, with minimal makeup, her curly hair down with small braids scattered throughout.
My Husband Kept a Christmas Gift from His First Love Unopened for 30 Years—Last Christmas, I Couldn’t Take It Anymore and Opened It
I ignored the little box under our Christmas tree for years. My husband said it was just a memory from his first love, but memories don’t haunt you like that. Last Christmas, something inside me snapped. I opened the gift and found a secret that changed everything.
I met Tyler when I was 32 and he was 35. It sounds cliché, but it felt like fate. Our connection was fast and electric, like when you step outside just as the first snowfall starts. Everything was magic, glittering, and impossibly perfect.
A couple walking in the snow | Source: Midjourney
He made me laugh with his dry humor, and I admired his quiet confidence. He was never brash and never postured. Tyler was just steady and certain, a safe harbor in a storm.
At least, that’s what I thought. I later realized his calm demeanor wasn’t confidence; it was cowardice.
Our first Christmas together was everything I’d dreamed of. Candles flickered, soft music played, and snow dusted the windows. We took turns unwrapping gifts, leaving ribbons and bows scattered across the floor. Then I saw it.
A woman sitting in a living room on Christmas | Source: Midjourney
One gift remained under the Christmas tree: a small, neatly wrapped box with a slightly flattened bow.
“Oh?” I said, tilting my head toward it. “Is that also for me?”
Tyler glanced up from the sweater I’d just given him and shook his head. “Nah, that’s… that’s something from my first love. She gave it to me before we broke up.” He shrugged like it was nothing. “Each year, I place it under the tree, though I’ve never opened it.”
A man sitting on a sofa | Source: Midjourney
I blinked. “What?”
He didn’t even look up. Just folded the sweater over his lap. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just a memory of someone who once meant a lot to me.”
I felt a prickle at the back of my neck. “Why didn’t you open it?”
“We broke up soon afterward, and I didn’t feel like opening it,” he said, and that was that.
The moment passed, or at least he thought it did.
A happy man sitting in a living room on Christmas | Source: Midjourney
But I remember sitting there, my smile feeling too tight on my face. A little red flag waved somewhere in the distance of my mind, but I told myself it was fine. People hold on to weird things. Old love letters. Ticket stubs. Nobody’s perfect, right?
The years rolled on, and we built a life together. Tyler and I got married and bought a little starter home. We had two kids together who filled the rooms with shrieks of joy and toddler tears.
We were happy. Or busy, which sometimes feels the same. Christmases came and went like clockwork.
A Christmas tree in a living room | Source: Pexels
I’d put up the tree while Tyler wrangled the lights. The kids would argue over which ornaments went where, and every year, without fail, that little box appeared under the tree.
I asked him about it again around year seven of our marriage.
“Why do you still have that old gift?” I’d said, dusting pine needles off the floor. “You’ve had it longer than you’ve had me.”
He looked up from untangling the lights, brow furrowed like I’d just asked him to solve world peace.
A man untangling Christmas lights in his living room | Source: Midjourney
“It’s just a box, Nicole. It’s not hurting anyone. Leave it be.”
I could’ve argued. I wanted to, but I didn’t. Back then, I still believed that peace was more important than answers. I still believed in us.
Time slipped through our fingers. Christmases came and went. The kids grew up and left for college. They called less and less and skipped spending holidays with the folks more often.
The house was quieter than I expected. It’s funny how you never realize how much noise you’ll miss.
A mature woman decorating a Christmas tree alone | Source: Midjourney
But that box? It never missed a year.
Every December, I’d watch it appear like a ghost. Tyler would place it in a spot where it was out of the way, but still clearly visible. It still had the same stupid paper, as smooth as the day his first love wrapped it.
I didn’t say anything anymore. I’d just see it, feel my chest tighten, and keep moving. But something had shifted.
A mature woman standing near a Christmas tree | Source: Midjourney
The box wasn’t just a box anymore. It was everything we never said to each other. It was his silence on the nights I lay awake, wondering if he’d ever loved me as much as her.
One night, after putting away dinner leftovers, I stood in the kitchen, hands on my hips, staring at the ceiling like it owed me an answer.
Tyler still hadn’t washed the dishes like he’d said he would, and hadn’t taken the trash out either. Instead, he was upstairs, tapping away on his laptop while I held everything together, like always.
A solemn-looking woman standing in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
I’d committed years of my life to this man and our family, and I was tired of always having to fight with him and remind him about chores. I looked around our kitchen and my heart ached for something I couldn’t name.
I sighed, dried my hands on a dishrag, and made my way to the living room.
The Christmas tree lights twinkled softly, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. It should’ve been peaceful. But then I saw that darn box.
Gifts under a Christmas tree | Source: Pexels
It was sitting there, smug, untouched. Still unopened after all these years.
Something deep and sharp unfurled in my chest. I could’ve walked away. I should’ve, but I’d walked away too many times already.
I grabbed it off the floor, and before I could think, I tore it open. Paper shredded in my hands and that stupid, flattened bow fell to the floor. My breath came short and fast as I tore open the thin cardboard and revealed the gift from Tyler’s first love.
A woman opening a Christmas gift | Source: Pexels
Inside was a letter, neatly folded, aged to a soft yellow. I froze.
This was the thing he’d guarded for thirty years. My heart drummed in my ears as I unfolded the page, fingers trembling.
My stomach dropped as I read the first sentence. I stumbled backward and sat down hard on the sofa as my knees went weak.
A woman sitting on a sofa while reading a letter | Source: Midjourney
“Tyler, I’m pregnant. I know this is a shock, but I didn’t know where else to turn. My parents found out and they’re forcing me to stay away from you, but if you meet me at the bus station on the 22nd, we can run away together. I’ll be wearing a green coat.
Please, meet me there, Tyler. I’m so sorry I lied that day I broke up with you. My father was watching from the car. I never stopped loving you.”
I pressed my fist to my mouth to keep from making a sound.
A shocked woman reading a letter | Source: Midjourney
She’d been there. She’d waited for him. And he never showed. But worse than that — he’d never even opened the letter. He had no idea…
I heard Tyler’s footsteps coming down the stairs. I didn’t even try to hide what I’d done.
When he saw me holding the letter, his face went pale.
“What did you do?!” His voice was sharp, slicing through the air like glass. “That was my most precious memory!”
I rose and turned to him slowly, feeling something inside me crack wide open.
A shocked man standing in a living room decorated for Christmas | Source: Midjourney
“Memory?” I held up the letter like a battle flag. “You mean this? This letter you never even opened? You’re telling me you clung to this ‘memory’ for thirty years and didn’t even have the courage to see what it was?”
He blinked, stepping back like I’d hit him.
“I didn’t…” He stopped and swiped a hand down his face. “I was scared, okay?”
“Coward,” I hissed, thrusting the letter at him like it was a sword.
A furious woman holding a letter | Source: Midjourney
His eyes widened. We stood there like that for what felt like forever, but then he took the page in his hands, and read the letter.
My eyes didn’t even sting with tears as I watched him gasp with shock and sit down on the arm of the sofa. I was too tired for that now.
Emotions flickered across his face, and at one point, he let out a low moan. He seemed to reread her words at least three times before he dropped his head into his hands.
A man sitting with his head in his hands | Source: Midjourney
“She… she was waiting, and I didn’t show up.” His shoulders shook and his voice was thick with emotion.
Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. He cried like a man mourning his own grave. But I didn’t feel sorry for him. I’d been waiting too.
“Tyler,” I said, my voice calm like a still lake after a storm. “I’m tired. Tired of being second to a ghost.” I felt my heart settle into something steady. “We’re done.”
He didn’t chase me as I left the room.
An angry woman glancing over her shoulder | Source: Midjourney
The divorce was quiet. Neither of us had the energy to make it messy. We split the house, the cars, and the rest of our lives.
He tracked her down. I found out from our youngest. She was happily married and their son wasn’t interested in meeting Tyler or his half-siblings. He’d missed his chance. Twice.
And me? I got my own place. On Christmas Eve, I sat by the window, watching the soft glow of lights from the neighboring apartments.
A content woman sitting near a window | Source: Midjourney
There was no tree this year, no boxes, and no ghosts. Just peace.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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