A Letter to Little Me
Dear little me,
Not that you didn’t know, but I was born in March of 2005. A few days ago, I turned seventeen, and as a way to commemorate nearly two decades of survival in this world, I would like to impart some advice. You’re not a teenager yet, so if I’m remembering correctly, you’re a little better at listening than I am (I think my parents can attest to that). Besides, I’m pretty sure my memory serves me well. I’m seventeen, not seventy.
I know you feel like there are very few people who believe in you right now, I know you feel lost, torn between easy or hard, American or Indian, imperfection or imperfection. Everywhere you turn, there is always someone telling you something different than what you were told to believe. Spoiler alert, hun: many of your beliefs will change. Fundamental aspects of you will change in these next few years. Heck, the world will change (I can’t give away too much, you know, butterfly effect and all that jazz, but take my word for it). Just know that you’re not alone in your pain: we all go through our torturous metamorphosis, but we all do end up flying out of our cocoons into the world, flapping the wings that are colored with our own authentic opinions. You’re not quite there yet, you’re still experiencing growing pains. But one day, you will be. One day, you will be able to speak your truth fearlessly, because you will have realized what that truth is. You’ve got a long way to go for that day. And frankly, so do I.
When I was your age, and I planned on writing this letter on the day I turned seventeen, I thought life would be perfect. I thought I would “glow up,” get the perfect body, figure out what the heck was going on with my skin, get perfect grades without trying, have shiny Ivy-League-worthy hair. I thought my life would be like a movie, I thought, after I’ve conquered the whole world (by the time I turned seventeen), I could go back to everyone who didn’t believe in me, and look at them with smug indifference. I thought so much that my hopes turned into necessities. I NEEDED to accomplish *insert accomplishment* to be happy. And I did accomplish some things and some things I didn’t. I still don’t know what’s going on with my skin or my hair, I don’t have a modeling career in my future (oof, what a shocker that one is), and whether I like it or not, I do have to work to get perfect grades. But I also have incredible, sisterlike friendships, I have amazing parents (so do you), and I have you to portray the marvelous impact of time (sorry, I had to, I’m still paying reparations for your embarrassing clothing choices). And I might not have a perfect body, but I do have a lovable one (so do you), I frankly find my hair crisis sort of endearing, and I have a brain. Maybe not the most genius one, but a beautiful one that can form opinions and arguments. But most importantly, I have a heart, a fierce one that can empathize, that seeks to understand, that can build and sustain relationships. When you read this, you’re going to be shaking your head violently, but I’m past the stage where I do things for the sake of doing them. I can say confidently that now, I act with purpose. I partake in meaningful experiences, I seek to learn, not to achieve, I try to spend my time doing the things I love with the people I love. And because of this, I’ve started to cherish every moment of being awake, conflicts and failures included.
You are going to change. No, not change. You are going to grow. And that doesn’t make you inauthentic, it preempts the next stage of your life, of who you are. You are going to reinvent yourself, you are going to explore, and if something doesn’t fit, then you’ll come back to the status quo, or try something new. For instance, for a few months, you might try to look cool and listen to “Hip Hop Hits,” but then you’ll come right back to “This is Taylor Swift,” and cry to evermore while drinking hot chocolate (a truly cathartic experience, trust me. WAIT you don’t even know what evermore is yet). My point is, sometimes exploration is necessary, sometimes the feeling of not fitting in is necessary. All the experiences that show you who you aren’t get you one step closer to who you are. So embrace failure, accept unacceptance, and most importantly, celebrate change. Because it’s not going anywhere. It’s going to happen every day, inch by inch, and like the horror movies that you and I are too scared to watch, you’ll be really confused as it’s happening, but once the climax hits, it’ll all make sense.
I guess the point of this letter is that, although your expectations are pretty darn high, it all kind of worked out. I’m happy, and I know you’re not, and that’s fine, but you have to explore. You have to change, you have to pry yourself out of your silent hibernation and speak what you feel. Don’t worry about what people think, because this is how you make friends who are worthwhile. I definitely don’t agree with everything you believe in, but I will say this, you do have it in you, and you don’t have to prove the haters wrong to know that. You have everything you need, and you have to look around you for the sources of your happiness.
I know you’re lost, but that’s because you’re in the process of being found.
Sincerely,
Your future self
P.S. I might do this more often, it’s very big-sisterly.