A letter from Sep 04, 2026

Dear FutureMe, sept 4 2026 Hi there, my love. Hehe. The last month has been heavy. Not necessarily because something terrible happened, but because August felt like a month of endings—of finally closing doors I kept leaving slightly open, of ending connections that no longer felt like home, and of making space for people, experiences, and versions of myself that I have yet to meet. There was a lot of letting go. A lot of realizing. A lot of quietly accepting that not everything I lose is something I am supposed to chase back. But you know what’s crazy? I did not cry in August. And maybe to someone else, that sounds like such a small thing. But I know you. I know how much crying used to be the only way you knew how to process things. I know how many nights you spent wondering what you did wrong, replaying conversations in your head, questioning whether you were too much or not enough, and convincing yourself that losing someone meant losing a part of yourself too. In 2025, you were so scared of being alone that you broke your own boundaries just to feel like someone was still there. You abandoned your own peace just so you wouldn't have to sit with the emptiness. You invalidated yourself because you thought being chosen by someone else was proof that you were worth choosing. And look at you now. This year, you didn't even mind being alone. You saw glimpses of the past. You were reminded of people, places, feelings, and versions of yourself that once had such a powerful hold over you. You could have gone back. You could have reopened doors. You could have convinced yourself that maybe things would be different this time. But you didn't. No demon can tempt you anymore when you finally understand that what the future holds for you is far greater than anything you had to leave behind. And that doesn't mean the past was meaningless. It means it served its purpose. It taught you. It changed you. It hurt you, yes, but it also introduced you to a strength you didn't know you had. That chapter of your life is done now. I don't think the scars will ever completely disappear. Some things leave marks on us. Some people become peklat—not because they still have power over us, but because they were once real enough to leave an imprint. And honestly? That's okay. A scar is not proof that you are broken. It's proof that something hurt you and you still healed. It's a reminder of how many times you thought you wouldn't make it through something, only to wake up one day and realize that you did. You survived every version of yourself that thought the pain would last forever. You survived the tears, the loneliness, the confusion, the nights where you desperately wanted an explanation that never came. You survived the love you felt you were robbed of. You survived the moments when your spark felt completely drained from you. And somehow, despite all of that, you're still here. Still loving. Still dreaming. Still becoming. You're rebuilding your walls now, but I hope you remember that walls don't always have to mean isolation. You can have boundaries without becoming unreachable. You can protect your heart without hardening it. You can learn from what happened without allowing what happened to dictate who you become. And ****, bai, I'm still so unsure of your future. There are days when I think I know exactly where I'm going, and there are days when I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a road with absolutely no idea which direction to take. I know I still want to become a doctor. I know teaching is something I want to carry with me. I still have aerospace engineering somewhere in my plans because apparently one lifetime isn't enough for all the things I want to do. And now I'm even considering taking up a Master's before pursuing medicine. Maybe I'll do it. Maybe I won't. Maybe the path will change ten more times before I finally arrive somewhere that feels like home. And you know what? That's okay. I don't have the keys to look at what's waiting for me. I don't get to peek at the next chapter before I live it. I don't know who I'll meet, what I'll become, where I'll end up, or what dreams I'll outgrow along the way. Pero at least naa koy keystone as to where ko mupadulong. I know the kind of person I want to become. And maybe that's enough for now. I don't need to know every detail of my future to trust that I'm moving toward something meaningful. I can let life surprise me. I can let God write things I never thought to ask for. I can allow certain plans to fall apart without assuming that my whole life is falling apart with them. So let it be love. Let it be friendship. Let it be career. Let it be failure. Let it be unexpected opportunities. Let it be doors I never thought would open. Let it be people I haven't met yet who will make me understand why certain people had to leave. I don't want to spend the rest of my life being afraid of losing things. I want to learn how to receive things while they're here and release them when their time is over. And to whoever I become in the future, I hope you remember this version of yourself. The one who didn't go back. The one who finally chose peace. The one who stopped begging for a place in people's lives. The one who realized that loneliness is not the same thing as being unloved. The one who learned that being alone can actually be a beautiful place to rebuild yourself. I wish you peace and healing, Dre. Genuinely. I hope you stop treating peace like something you have to earn after suffering enough. I hope you stop thinking you have to prove that you're worthy of being loved by constantly giving pieces of yourself away. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to have soft days. You are allowed to not have everything figured out. And please, my love, don't deprive yourself of peace. You are more than worthy of it. Everyone deserves your love, but that includes you too, Andre. Give yourself the same grace you so naturally give to everyone else. Speak to yourself with the same patience you offer your friends. Forgive yourself for the things you didn't know then. Stop punishing the younger version of you for making decisions with the knowledge they had at the time. You were just trying to survive. And you did. Also, remind yourself that love is never wasted when it is shared. Don't gatekeep your love just because someone once got greedy and drained you of it. Don't let one person's inability to handle your love convince you that you were wrong for having so much of it in the first place. Remember that God gave you an abundance of love. You will not run out. You don't have to become colder just because someone took advantage of your warmth. You don't have to become distant just because someone made closeness feel unsafe. You don't have to love less just because someone failed to love you properly. Just learn where to place it. Give it to people who know how to hold it. Give it to people who reciprocate it. Give it to the people who make you feel safe enough to be soft. And most importantly, give some of it back to yourself. Because for so long, you kept handing love outward and wondering why you felt empty when nobody handed it back. Now, I hope you learn to pour into yourself too. Take yourself out. Celebrate yourself. Be proud of the little things. Buy yourself the flowers. Take the pictures. Go to church when your heart needs somewhere to rest. Study for the future you keep dreaming about. Build the life you keep saying you want. And when the right people eventually come into your life, don't love them from a place of fear that they'll leave. Love them from a place of abundance. Love them because you want to, not because you need them to stay. There is a huge difference. And if one day you find yourself loving someone again, I hope you don't forget the person who had to learn how to love himself first. I hope you don't abandon yourself just because someone else finally chose you. I hope you remain you. Because that's the greatest thing August gave you. Not closure. Not another person. Not an answer. Just yourself. A version of you that finally understands that you can lose people and still have a life worth living. That you can close chapters without hating the story. That you can remember the past without returning to it. That you can carry scars without carrying resentment. That you can be uncertain about tomorrow while still being hopeful about it. So here's to September. I don't know what you're bringing. Maybe more endings. Maybe beginnings. Maybe people. Maybe solitude. Maybe opportunities I haven't even imagined yet. Whatever it is, let it come. I don't want to force anything anymore. I want to trust the timing. I want to trust God. I want to trust the person I'm becoming. And if I ever forget, I hope I come back to this letter and remember: I have already survived the versions of life that once terrified me. I can survive the unknown too. The past may have left its peklat, but it no longer gets to write the future. That part belongs to me now. And whatever waits for me on the other side of all this uncertainty, I hope I meet it with an open heart, steady feet, and enough courage to say— I am ready. Not because I know what's coming. But because I finally know that whatever comes, I will find my way through it. And this time, I won't abandon myself along the way.