A letter to my older-self.
Dear Tejas
If you are reading this, you are months away from turning 45! Congratulations, you made it. We made it, so far.
Many people write letters to their younger-selves. Writing back to comfort the child/teenager they once were and impart hard-earned wisdom to the naïve, innocent past-version of themselves. As if in writing to their former selves, they can expunge the past of its prickly, thorny parts.
But I will never again meet the 15 year old that was once me! Sure, he is and will always be a part of me (and you too dear, you too!). Yet he is not someone with whom I can have a true dialogue about where we are headed, from this point onwards!
In some contorted truism of time-space, younger-me is, irretrievably, lost to today-me. Unjust but unchangeable. The future captivates me, fills me with hope, joy, anxiety, and dread. In equal measure, the unknown is laden with anticipation and determination. So I look to you instead, future-me!
You’re reading this so your eyes and cognition are (hopefully) largely intact. If I extrapolate it to general health, then bravo to us for continuing to work on our body and fitness.
But hey, did you finally stop worrying about the desserts and the belly fat? I hope so. Do you think your face, your hair, your skin colour are all “just the way the need to be”? Do the world’s eyes haunt you less? I hope you are closer to home now, in being yourself.
And what about your mind? Do you still meditate and journal? I think you should, if for some reason you stopped.
Tell me, does the nervousness, fear and shame taper off by mid-forties? (Don’t tell me if it’s a “no”, it makes me anxious).
Do people still ask you where do you belong or where do you come from? Do you have an answer now? ’cause I do not. Why don’t they ask where you’re going, instead? I hope you are free to stand in your own truth. Are you less afraid than I am?
I will not ask “what do you do for a living”. But I sincerely hope you are living despite what you do. I hope you are giving your time and energy to things that make your soul come alive. And helping others too, in a way that only you can.
How many languages and cultures have you explored? Did you travel more of the world? So, do you still dance like a child when you hear a song you love? And sing like no one could stop you? I hope the joy and adventure still burns ablaze in your spirit. Soaking in life, bright eyes shining.
Did you publish some more of your writings? I have a feeling you did. Go on, do more of it. Hey, I believe in you, even if no one else does. So keep at it, and you’re doing a great job!
Do you still crave for perfection in every damn thing you take up? Come on! I do wish you have learned to be kinder and gentler with yourself. And with those around you. Our exigency is merely the veneer over our deep fear to be transparent.
You must have met failure and unkindness, it’s part of the deal. I wish you move past them with fewer and fewer scars.
What are you made of? What are you made for? Does the world make more sense now? Or is the obscure mystery of it still haunting you? In lonely moments, does the darkness still come rushing back and shut out the light in you? I hope not. I really do.
I hope you held on tightly to all the love, family and treasured friendships I have now. And gained more meaningful relationships. Loss, we both know, is just around the corner. Do you still grieve quietly when no one is watching?
I hope you are teeming with truck-loads of self-love, self-compassion and self-esteem to take care of yourself when the mind starts to demonise your very thoughts!
More than anything else, I hope you love yourself — because you are incredibly special.
Hang in there and hey, here’s to us!
Love,
Tejas
