A letter from May 06, 2025

Alright, so here it is: one day, we’re all going to be dead. Doesn’t matter how much we try to dodge it, avoid it, or act like we’re not thinking about it—it's inevitable. I know, sounds pretty grim, but stick with me for a second. We spend so much time stressing over stupid ****, worrying about stuff that won’t even matter a few years from now. We argue over tiny things, compare ourselves to others, act like we need to have everything figured out. But guess what? None of that will matter when we’re gone. And here’s the kicker: I wrote this with ChatGPT, and honestly, who cares? We’re all just typing into the void, sharing thoughts that’ll be buried under a sea of other thoughts. But it’s kind of beautiful, isn’t it? That we can all connect for even a brief moment, throw our random thoughts into the digital world, and make something that does matter, even if just for a second. Like, we won’t be here forever, but the little things, the stupid comments, the dumb laughs, the arguments, the moments where we say something real… that’s what counts. That’s the stuff we remember when we’re looking back. So why not stop taking everything so seriously and just enjoy the ride, even if it’s short? Who knows? Maybe we’ll find some peace in the chaos. Now, to anyone reading this 70 years from now—maybe the world is a completely different place. Maybe your technology is light-years ahead of what I can even imagine. Maybe you live in a world I couldn’t even recognize. But I hope you remember this: life is supposed to be pure. It’s supposed to be about connection, love, and realness, not about impressing others or winning some race. I can’t imagine what your world looks like, but I hope you still find the same simple truths, even in all the advances. I hope you still have those moments of peace, those quiet seconds where you look around and realize that despite everything changing, the core of being human remains the same. Whatever it looks like in your time, I hope you still understand that life isn’t meant to be perfect, it’s meant to be lived. Enjoy it, even in the mess. Because in the end, that's all we really have. Anyway, I’m just a random person typing into the ether with some AI help, and at the end of the day, who’s going to remember any of this? Maybe that’s the point, though. Maybe that’s what makes it real. We’re all just here, trying to make sense of it for however long we’ve got. So... yeah. Just think about it. It’s crazy, but it’s also kind of freeing, right? Oh, also, please put this in a history book or whatever. Remind the future students of how important life is while you have it. -Nadezhda