A Letter To My Younger Self - Dublin

There was it, the newspaper, placed right on the table. Our room wasn't that huge that you could have moved your sight elsewhere; even if it was, I don't think you would have been able to look away for too long because your dream was there within the pages. 

You felt anxious and joyful simultaneously yet paralyzed by doubts. 

Do you still remember the day when you first thought about being an established writer? In second grade, you won a book for scoring the highest for English? Remember Aladdin? The only book you ever owned and treasured for seven years, and you fought with our mother to keep this every spring cleaning season. The book inspired you and made you believe in a world beyond the four walls of our childhood apartment. Do you still remember the logbook you kept hidden from our mother? You were so afraid of her reaction. I know how angry she can get if she ever discovered your little secret. 

Mother. 

Isn't she is the reason you wanted to leave? You've always wanted to pack the bags; move far away from home. This place was never home. You always knew, and you were right. So when the opportunity finally came, you panicked. You were overwhelmed with fear. You were afraid of mother again. I remember the immense helplessness you felt being around her. 

I am sorry that I wasn't able to make things better for you. 

I always wished she wasn't who she was with us. She scarred us but trust me; things will not be the same 15 years in the future. I promise you, and I made things right this time. 

Anyways, I heard things happened in school. Ms. Petty confiscated the love letter you wrote for M, right? I am sorry that you had to go through the humiliation in front of all the kids that bullied you, and it was not fair. She should have been more subtle about it, but she is a Mathematics teacher; I don't think she knew much about psychology. You were not a bad student; everyone constantly wrote letters to each other. It was just that Ms. Petty didn't like girls like us, and it was apparent. You will understand that someday. 

Ugh, you are looking at the newspaper again, aren't you? I know it is too late now. Yet, I am proud that you still wrote the essay. It is okay if you were too afraid to go to the post office or pass this to our father for submission. You did your best, and I am proud of you. So, please don't cry - I know that it is hurting you deeply. 

Helplessness is a form of torture. It breaks your heart repeatedly; I understand that now. If you asked me, I wished that you mustered up some courage and submitted the essay. Nevertheless, it happened. 

This experience taught you a valuable lesson; don't let fear retake hostage of your senselessness. I realized that you allowed fear to take control many times, but you were always so strong to face the consequences, so I am proud of you. 

And will always be proud of you. Till my next letter, please take care of yourself. 

Sincerely, 

Your Older Self