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Letter to my younger self

Letter to my younger self


If you can read this, then the time machine worked. Also, it’s really me. I mean you. On your first summer holiday, you found that knife with the shiny red handle and there was nobody around to see you take it, but you put it back anyway. See? It’s really me. That is, you, but twenty years older. So listen.

First and foremost, stop worrying so much about all that petty crap. Everything works out fine in the end. Laugh some more, relax, live a little. Your good friends will remain your friends twenty years down the line. The assholes will be virtually forgotten by the time you get to college. So there.

Also, the cute little blonde girl that you fell in love with in 9th grade? Just have the guts to tell her outright – the sooner, the better. Sticking around like a love-sick puppy never solves anything. You’ll end up telling her anyway – right before you leave for college – and she’ll laugh it off and you’ll stay friends. The only thing unrequited love is good for is poetry. And your high-school poetry sucks.

Let your hair grow just like you always wanted. There’ll come a time when sadly that won’t be an option any more.

Go see your grandparents while they’re still around. They love you and your sister more than anything else in the world. You’ll be out of the country soon, and you don’t get to visit much. No, I’m not telling you where you end up. Spoilers, you know.

Spend more time with dad. He’s not going to be around for much longer. Get him to quit smoking, if you can. Also, stop talking and start listening every once in a while. Not everything is a contest of wills, and you don’t need to get your way every damn time. Might even be better in the long run if you don’t.

Be fair with others and treat them with respect, even when it’s so tempting to do otherwise. Don’t forget that people that love you get hurt the most. And when that time comes when you have no idea where you’re going (I promise you, you’ll know), just figure it out by yourself. Don’t take other people along for the ride. They only get hurt in the end.

Did you know that the metabolism slows down in your twenties? Neither did I. Now you have no excuse to stop exercising. Get a bike. Trust me, it pays off.

Hope this little letter won’t change our lives so much that the created paradox blows me out of existence. Or ends the universe as we know it. I tried to keep it as spoiler-free as possible; I’m only telling you things that you’re going to figure out by yourself later anyway. Well, duh. Have a nice life, mate. See you in twenty years.

* * *

Oh, what the hell. BUY GOOGLE!



violenceThe violence we do – we’re doing it to ourselves first and foremost. The anger. The rage. The clenched fist. The hissed word, spat out through our teeth, the cynical smile, the piercing sarcasm. The derisive laugh.

Aye, it feels good when we say it. When we’re standing there, blood coursing through our veins, high on adrenalin and spite. We won. I won. You lost – the argument, the fight, the competition – you bowed your head and just gave up. You loser. My anger reigned supreme.

It’s only after we cool down that our conscience kicks in. Regrets that come too late, after all that’s been said and all that’s been done. Some of us – the lucky ones – bow their head in shame, their lesson learned, and suffer through the consequences of their anger. Others are not that lucky.

It’s easy, giving in to a sense of righteousness. A post facto justification of all the things we did. “It wasn’t really that bad”, we say. “The other had it coming anyway”, we say. And pieces of our heart wash away – our good, kind heart, the one our mothers saw in us when we were little – and they’re replaced with cold, dead stone. A little bit more callous every day. A little bit more uncaring. So easy, walking down that road. Becoming just a hollow shell, loose pebbles rattling in from time to time.

I only wish my 16 year old self would not despise the man I have become.