My Dearest Younger Self,
Take a seat here, in the tranquillity of this moment.
Do you see how the light shines through the window, exactly as it was in your former bedroom? Dust motes dance across the beam, small galaxies twirling in the sun. It’s how you feel a chaotic, beautiful, and painful universe inside your chest currently. I want to share a tale with you. This is not a fairytale; however, it is the truth, shattered by the brutal, stunning light of reality.
Let me first take that tear off your cheek. I still feel the ghostly heat on my skin, even decades after. You’re holding an ache that is so massive it stretches your spine. It’s the feeling of giving a diamond and receiving a pebble in return. It’s the sound of your own voice telling the world, “I love you,” and then an inexplicably silent silence that absorbs the words entirely. You’ve poured your heart into the desert, believing that if you just sprinkled enough water on it, something would sprout. But now, standing in the dirt, you are feeling foolish. You feel betrayed.
The painful, thorny idea has been ingrained. The question is: If the game is not fair, why should we follow the rules? If you’re being victimised, why would you not be honest? If you are met with insults, why provide value?
Oh, my dear heart. I understand. It’s like an armoured suit constructed from your own wounds. It is a strong feeling. It’s almost like it’s a sense of survival. Let me explain what this armour does not do: it doesn’t block the pain in; it only ensures that nobody, not even a future pleasure, will ever come into contact with your skin.
It’s fine, I’m telling you now, in the fullness of time behind me, it is okay to stop watering desert soil. That is not being a cheater. It isn’t betrayal. That is the incredible and heartbreaking act of declaring one’s own holy well. You weren’t put on this planet to be an everlasting source of energy for those who view you as a source of water for their own sea. Working on yourself, your body, your mind, the unique shine that is yours alone, is not self-centred. It’s the most crucial obligation you can fulfil. It is to build a castle of self-worth so magnificent that, from its spires, you can finally discern who is worthy of being invited inside.
Weep, yes. Let it flow through your body. In the night, in the darkness, allow the tears to flow like a storm in the summer. They are violent and cleansing. It’s unavoidable. Take a bath in salt. Remember the romance you believed was there. Think about the future you imagined in your head. But here’s the deal: you need to sign with your soul. Take that pain for an evening. One tremendous cinematic, cathartic, and uplifting flood. Then, it’s over.
Don’t give the same person or the exact model a second chance in your heart’s weakest room. The first cry is the emotion of grief. The second cry is for permission. The third is a prison that you create for yourself. It is tempting to return to the crash site and examine the wreckage for clues. Some fires are so hot that they leave no clues. You have to learn to get away from the rubble.
Because this is the gruelling reality that you’re fighting with, the world indeed keeps an account, but it’s not a fair one. It will keep an eye on you, keenly for your blunders. It will judge your character by the people you love and will whisper that you’re “beneath” as well as “above” your place. It will list your mistakes in permanent ink, while their crimes are written in fading pencil. When it comes to the selfless, pure love that gives ground… you’ll discover that it is an uncommon currency.
You’ll see it maybe, in the tired hands of your mom as she cooks your favourite meals without ever being asked. The silent satisfaction in your dad’s eyes when you make something simple and delicious. They are your standard. Their affection will serve as a guide to the North Star. Be careful not to think of a passing satellite as your light source.
You may see the problem that tears your heart. People who donate fragments of their kingdoms are the ones who give kingdoms. You, my kind soul, leave with fragments. The inequity is inside your soul, and you feel it as an iceberg. It makes you sarcastic. It will scream, “See? It’s a joke to say that goodness is made for fools.”
Here’s the thing the stone isn’t trying to tell you to be aware of: The pain you experience isn’t a sign of your weaknesses, but of your strength. That stone in your chest? The weight is heartfelt love that you’re capable of offering. Do not let the inability hold you back from creating the most beautiful, weighty objects. False people will treat your heart like a common stone. The right ones will appreciate it as the precious stone it truly is, and their hands will be kind and their actions sacred.
Don’t “cheat” even if you are being cheated. Doing so allows their darkness to determine your own light. You’ll only betray yourself as well as the beautiful character you have in the centre of you. This person is worthy of protection and not destruction.
Instead, transform into a masterpiece of calm dignity.
Get away from tables where respect isn’t mentioned on the menu. Let your silence speak for itself in the place where you’ve wasted your words. Transform your pain into art or ambition. It is an incredibly resonant power of a soul that has been burned but cannot let go. Pour all the things you put in them into the container of your life. Study. Create. Run. Build. Create an herb garden. Learn a language. Make your determination your revenge, and let peace be your reward.
There will be a time, I promise you, under the same sun, that you will be in a different kind of peace. It will feel soft. You’ll be whole, not because you were a victim of someone else’s work; however, you have carefully and tenderly glued each fragment back using gold, the Japanese technique that is Kintsugi. The scars you have left will be your beauty.
In that silence, you’ll know. The love you were asking for was a cup of water. Your love giving was the whole ocean. You weren’t the cause. You were an ocean trying to squeeze yourself into the cup.
So, my gorgeous young self, take down the cup. Enter into the vastness of your soul. The most reputable are only a few, and the real ones won’t come with measuring spoons. They’ll be sailing, ready to sail into your depths, tolerant of your storms, and awed by the sky.
It’s not the end of the story. When the camera pulls back, and the music rises, not in love, but with determination. You aren’t shrinking. You’re accumulating the whole sky. Now, go. Live. The most beautiful love letter you have ever composed is about the one you create for yourself. It will be an absolute masterpiece.
All the affection you’ll eventually discover to show yourself,
Your Older, Wiser, Still-Dreaming Self