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Dear FutureMe, I hope you're having a good birthday. Today, one year ago, you entered your twenties. It might be a big step to some, but you've always been in your 20s. At 5, at 15...doesn't matter. You've always been a big girl. It rather feels like you're regressing, year by year, into what was your right from the beginning, the freedom to be young and thoughtless. Perhaps not thoughtless. You long for it, but you'll never truly reach that childlike innocence you've been stripped of from the moment you learned to talk, to take care of anyone but yourself, so prematurely. I hope at least this time they congratulated you before the domino effect of hearing it fleetingly from someone else, pretending to care all of a sudden. It's not even receiving any gifts from them. It's how little space you take in their thoughts. It's hard to imagine barely occupying their mind, when all they do is dwell in your own. Am I then supposed to become less selfless, adjust to this world's bare minimum? They may not deserve my consideration, but am I really depriving them of any affection, or am I depriving myself of the ability to be the beautiful, patient person I've always longed to be? At least you have your friends. Your three, close friends. The ones that insist on seeing you on the special day you were born. The ones that force you to see your importance and the impact you have in their lives, make you feel wanted and seen. Make you feel not needed, because you always feel obligation, but cherished for what you simply are, the way you exist. I hope you're living on your own. I have no idea what your relationship to our family is, but I just hope you're doing alright. You probably did the internship at some school and I hope you feel surer than ever about becoming a teacher. I hope you've found your peace. I hope you don't get tears in your eyes thinking about what could've been, why he'll never love you as much as you love him, why you always have to be the bigger person when you're the child. I hope you've found your way back to Allah. I feel bad saying that I don't want to seek refuge in Allah and ask Him for relief and ease, because I have to earn...happiness, by living a difficult life. I don't have to live the way they did. I don't have to sacrifice my own peace. I silently swallow every moment and wait until it chokes me and makes it all come back. I resent them so quietly, it all inadvertently suffocates me and my judgement, making them seem like monsters. I don't even mean to be this bitter person. I never asked for these feelings of abandonment. I rationally do not take this seriously. It's just another day. Sure, the government is obsessed with this date, but it really is just a random Tuesday. And I'm trying to be an adult here...but it hurts in reality more than it does in theory. I hope he remembers the day he ate the dessert I made for my own birthday as he half-assedly tried to slip a gratulation before midnight. I hope he feels regret and guilt having forgotten his "babygirl" has turned 20. I'll never be his baby girl again. I hope this day reminds him that he's getting closer to ***** everyday...and that his time with me is limited, so he better become a father soon. Yours truly, PastYou