Dear future self,
I want you to come back to this moment, I want you to not forget this feeling you’re feeling right now, I want you to remember the exact color of the sky, and the dearth of the free flights of even a single bird, I want you to remember the absence of a silver lining in any of the clouds that cover the skyline, the emptying paleness of the azure that spreads in the unimaginable infinity that covers everything, the constancy with which the streetlights radiate, this numbing sensation in your bones, this desire to succumb yourself to silence, to throw all of those diaries of poetries and dream journals away, or, rather, put them all to fire, all over again, I want you to remember this precise moment when the impracticality of your dreams seems so overwhelming that you find yourself giving justifications for not trying to hold on anymore.
I want you to come back to this when some random little thing, ranging from some Disney movie to a Woolf quote would inspire you and you’d find yourself readying for another of those sprees in which you’d believe yourself to be unbreakable. But you’re getting old for Disney, you aren’t young anymore, you have been young all this time, but you aren’t, not anymore. And despite your mind finding itself on a ride back to a feeling of belonging in the stream of consciousness this Woolf offers, you know about her end, didn’t you? You know her last words were the first thing you read, and you knew you understood what she felt, and even as you couldn’t know why she did what she did, you knew they couldn’t save her, you knew she couldn’t save herself, but you know you understand, and you know you hate that. I want you to remember this burning sensation your eyes feel at this moment, and the seemingly unending way in which this saltwater doesn’t run out, I want you to remember how the skyscrapers covered the sunset for you this evening, and all you could see was the darkness that reeks in this entire cosmos, slowly manifesting in the way it dawns over the city, I want you to remember how you looked at this train go by, and all it did was remind you of the dreadful monotony that awaits you, the sheer normalcy you know you’d find yourself engaged in, doing what you’ve done all these years, running in circles, and wanting to do it all before the accepted age for the same runs out, I want you to remember the way you felt sorry for yourself, and you couldn’t do anything but gritting your teeth. You haven’t felt as estranged to yourself and everything you’ve meant to everyone ever before. I know you, I know you dislike it when you feel entrapped in your own body, which keeps suffering, because of you, I know that even as you’ve come to accept the aberration your curls offer, at times you’d want to just have it all go away, wanting to fit in, wanting to not realise all that you see to be unfair. I know you’ve come to hate your arms, slowly, but you’re getting there, hating the chunks of fat that allows people to fat-shame you, with an unbelievable impunity, you’ve never liked your ears, have you? They’re just too big for humans, maybe all they want you to do is listen, and understand, and do things their way. And the newest addition, that’s the one you hold the most grudge against right now, isn’t it? You’ve hoped to get a tattoo that defines your beliefs and yourself all these years, wanting to engrave a semicolon or a flying book on your wrist or at the back of your neck, because you’ve always been someone who goes on, who believes in the magic and the power of the written word and imagination, but the world isn’t a wish-granting factory, isn’t that right? So you’re presented with these scars that make you cry every time the mirror reflectes them covering your back, the monstrosity of their redness is sickening, and you find it unable to get the doctor’s voice outside your head telling you how they won’t go away. And you shed a tear knowing that these scars, which are nothing but a reminder of another summer that broke you, would probably outlive in being there on your body, than your soul.
Look, I don’t know what to say, all I know is that you are hurting, and you know you’re going to make through this as well, but I know you don’t want to, with all these people out there, refusing to treat beings as beings, you’ve started questioning what even it means to be a human. You find it unable to partake a conversation with people you used to know, knowing exactly how they’re trying to silence your voice, giving excuses of utmost stupidity with these infuriated glares to everytime you mention something to be wrong around. I know how the feeling of being silenced and misunderstood clicks with this feeling of loneliness and you find yourself abandoned in the middle of a sea, with this ship that comes with a timer, you know it’d take you home, all you need to do is put the address, but where even is it? So you find yourself swimming around, wanting to ask someone for directions, only that there’s nobody around, and with your armour down and kept aside for safekeeping, you know nobody would come to help your beatific being, knowing that all those promises and confessions they make about following you till the end of the world, will all fade away once they see you removing your masks. I’m sorry you cannot bring yourself to trusting people, I’m sorry nobody wants to be around, you know you don’t get to blame them, right? And all those constellations of thoughts you thought you’d think through, wondering if the stars knew our stories all this time and if this existence is nothing but a computer simulation, and if our lives are unprecedented or not, and why we do what we do, live all those ages without asking why, forced in these races to get more marks and money and a stability that’s put Noble gases to shame, what’s even the point?
I want you to remember the way your aching heart beat for you, and how you couldn’t bring yourself to text or call anybody up to listen to the sound of silence, and with the stillness your soul screamed and broke apart, all over again. I want you to remember how your fingers fluttered while you typed and your insecurities took over you, I want you to remember how you saw the ghosts of those who’ve loved and left all around you, all over again, and how you knew better to not reach out this time, knowing they’ll vanish the second you do that. I want you to remember the fireworks that spread across the sky, and the world rejoicing oblivious to the apocalypse springing in your being. I want you to remember the uproar this laughter coming from strangers that broke you, that made you want to wonder how could they settle for mediocrity, how could they not want anything more, but to hold on to their immoral rationality they call as worldliness, how nobody ever wishes to stop being called a refugee in a town that never changed, how they never accept a part of it to belong to a part of theirs, how we’re living in a tremendous turmoil, just toiling through Tuesdays and Thursdays, we’re at wars with ourselves, we’ve all our guns and grenades loaded, and we keep trying to harm the kingdoms of all those we find in front of us, knowing that one can always pick up the pieces to build their Lego houses again. But why do we always have to be that wave that brings the sandcastle down, what good does it even do to us?
I feel sorry for you. I do. So when tomorrow you come back and your intellect tells you that you’re invincible,and you read this and you feel sorry for me for not being able to look at all those wonderful wonders this world still has to offer, I know I’d be too numb to call you naive, for believing that one of these days you’d step up to becoming someone who’s not invisible, to becoming someone who’d be able to stand up for yourself, to maybe even getting to your dream university, to be able to articulate your affection, to not let your insecurities insinuate you to go flounder in silence, maybe to even have somebody tell you that they’re proud of you, that you’re appreciated for who you are, to be someone with that spark in her eyes and the understanding that she wants the world, to feel infinite once more.
And maybe you’ll get it all, your utopia doesn’t include unicorn horns and dogs you are too afraid to pet anyway, maybe you’ll find some sense and some reasons why not, one of these days, I only hope that this sadness doesn’t devour you completely before that happens. I hope the next time you read this, you believe in magic and metaphors once more.
Either ways I know you’re going to make it. I hate it that you would but you would, anyway. So go on, cry this night out and in a week or two, get back to filling your pocket with sunshine and your cup with coffee and dreams, wanting to be all that you could be.
I’ll get through this, don’t worry, there’s not a heartbreak that Coldplay and a bottle of Cola can’t fix.
Don’t end before you’re shattered completely, and don’t forget the starless skies I am looking at right now. I want you to remember this all once you go back to counting your calories and running in circles tomorrow morning,
I want you to remember me. Because I know nobody else will.
You better not let me down, okay?
Go get ’em, tiger.