Dear Baby me,
I’m writing to you from the future. I’m you only 21 years old. It’s now the year 2012 and contrary to what was predicted, the world didn’t end. Better news, you have a lot to look forward to in life. I wish I could hold your plump little hands and hug your tiny little frame and keep you far from all that the world has in store for you. I want to tell you how very proud I am of the person you have become, of your fierce passion towards life, of your unconditional loyalty towards your friends, of proving how you possess a spine of steel behind that exterior.
Know one thing. Life won’t always be this happy. You won’t always chase water bubbles and run wildly in the fields under the cover of the bright violet skies. People will break your heart at most points of your life, they’ll tell you how worthless you are and how you don’t deserve any goodness in the world. You’ll believe all this. You’ll change from an ever-smiling, endearingly naughty little girl to an obnoxiously rude and rebellious teenager to an ambitious, family-oriented, independent woman. You’ll have ten people standing behind you scarring you with their words, but you’ll have a few telling you how you’re special and in the larger scheme of things, they matter the most. Trust me.
I wish I could see the world through your big brown eyes, see just how beautiful it is, with all its lights and sounds. I wish I could still experience the same euphoric joy at the sight of street dogs and multi coloured crayons. Yes it’s a pretty murky world, but it’s also splendid, the beauty and enormity of which the older me has long forgotten to appreciate or even notice. But more than anything I wish I could experience being me again, when happiness came naturally.
In retrospect, despite the ups and downs, heartbreaks, sham friends, failures, accolades, driven ambitions, broken dreams, innumerable obstacles and highs, I think we’ll turn out just fine.
