A letter from Nov 04, 2023

To my 18 year old self, Happy 18th...drink as much as you can, celebrate as much as you can, because this was the end of your teenagehood. I really don't know if you managed to experience everything 16-year-old you thought you would experience by 18; attending Halloween parties, inviting friends over to your newly renovated room (hope the termites are gone), finally going to the rooftop carpark you’ve been talking about since you were 13 with someone you treasure. Here’s a little snippet of life now: I absolutely abhorred being 15, but it made me grow. Grow so much, yet lose so much. I lost my drive and motivation, my friends, my relationship with my family, and a big part of me. Today, I turned 16, and only 3 people truly remembered. I lost a big part of me, and I still dont know what that was; if it genuinely was me or just a quilt of all the memories with people I once treasured. Good friends that brought the best out of me, made me push on, yet still treasured my worst qualities but it was these, these bad qualities that made me lose everyone in my life that once brought me joy. All because I can’t handle my emotions, can’t manage to maintain a relationship, get unreasonably mad. I sincerely hope that, you lost this part of me as you grew. Turning 16 is possibly the worst experience in my life right now, knowing that my life is in complete shambles. Now I have friends; but I hate them, yet I can’t seem to fathom the thought of having to go through O Levels alone, having to endure getting my results alone. And how odd it is to be haunted by someone that is still alive; my 14 year old self, the one who brought the best and worst out of me, made me realise my untapped potential. Yet my 15 year old self disappointed me, and broke and punched and gutted me to pieces. Now it’s up to my 16 year old self to put myself back together for my 17 year old self to have something that she can repair. For my 18 year old self to show my scars proudly to her treasured ones. Everything I let go will have claw marks on it, but I really am trying to let go of all the disgusting parts of me. The ones that made me undigestable, unfathomable, unmatured, unrelentless, unsuccessful, uneasy, undulant. I am trying to make myself digestible. I am trying to make myself easy to love. It’s a journey for 16 year old me, but I certainly hope she made it easier for you at 18 to now love yourself. And if she didn’t, don’t think she failed you, just think of the journey being a little longer and harder than unexpected. And if you don’t love yourself, I do. They could hook me up to a polygraph and ask me if I love you and I will say no but the needle will jumo and sputter exactly how you laugh. You will point at the moon tonight, and I will be the one looking at your hand (adapted from Richard siken’s piece, Anyway). I will always be a piece of you, a part of you, and I hope you don’t lose me like how my 15 year old self did. Happy. Birthday. A mess and a half, A version that was 2 years younger