A letter from November 30th, 2019

Dear FutureMe, You bet I was toying when I write this. It's not even meaningful or filled with useful memorable things. (Because I don't know what I should write to my future self) but I hope, soon when you receive this message and read it, I hope you– myself – will feel nostalgic and also ridiculous. I also hope my grammar will improve and later you will achieve what you're hoping you'll be. Write a nice book and learn to save money. I also hope you'll find your boyfriend or better, a nice husband. You. Are. Old. I hope you're also still be the same Isya we used to be. A positive and happy-go-lucky woman, still enjoying memes and Pewdiepie and find yourself a perpetual happiness. There's greatness in ourselves—I believe. Find a work you dream you have and keep continuing in magical creatures and fantasy. Please be the best version of myself. The most tragic will be is when you read this, you're depressed and you find everything is total ********. And you will find ******** in me who wrote this. Please. Don't. Be. Like. This. Theresa and Ros, these are or were your friends. Find yourself a friend that will support you. I guess that's all from me, your old self. Your past, your younger self and hope the world hasn't end yet in our time. Love, Isya