A Letter To My 30-Year-Old Self

You might read this, or you might not. But still I want to say hi. By the time you get ahold of this letter, I am certain you have grown enough to understand what life is all about, what you are all about. And I am certain you will smile and frown as you remember the letter sender, your 22-year old self (and her alter ego).

You are probably somewhere now — in a place you’ve found solace at, in a place that has not just given you resources to provide for the family, but an avenue to help you become who you want to be — a truly happy person.

No, I am not saying you have found utmost happiness now. It will be too early to conclude, you know. You are just thirty years old, still young honestly. But whatever that’s around you now makes your lips curve up and sometimes makes your heart beat fast.

If you got really lucky, you probably have someone special right beside you. Don’t give me that ‘of course, I have the entire family and great friends’ answer, okay? Oh well, you’ve been through a lot in love. You’ve been right and you’ve been wrong. But I am sure you have not grown tired of love. You might have been pained deeply but you were never the bitter one. You might have wept and begged silently but you never wished for vengeance. You were always grateful that at least you’ve given love in the truest way — reciprocated or not.

You might even have a kid now. If you do, I am more than sure you love them dearly. You have always liked to be with children, to play and eat and dance with them. You even hugged more than dozens of little kids you’ve just met. You just love how they seem to have burning passion for life and how they enjoy the bliss little things can give. They always reminded you of heaven. Wait, have you started planning out for the orphanage or school you wanted to build? I hope you already have.

I hope you’re a professional writer now, in a magazine or newspaper or wherever. But if you’re not, I hope you still write. Penned words have always been your escape, your voice. And speaking of voice, have you ever tried reading the Prayers of the Faithful in the holy mass again? You should, please. And try not stammering and stumbling. I pray you have that confidence now. Believe in yourself. You might not be the best person there is, but you are good and amazing in your own ways. Just like everyone else. Don’t be too scared.

Go to places you used to search on the net — Maldives, Rome, Paris. Anywhere you want. You deserve to travel and explore. You deserve to step into unknown worlds. Make friends. Eat those foods you used to leave on your plate. Try them and see if you like them now. Eat freely. Eat alone. You deserve a good steak or anything all for yourself.

I love the way you smile now. Things were never easy. Life has been fair and unfair, reasonable and unreasonable. You failed. You were rejected. But you smile because you know there were as many triumphs and cheers, too. Your life isn’t the extraordinary one actually. But then again, it’s unique. It’s yours and yours alone.

But more than wishing you have started filling check marks on your bucket list, I want to say sorry and thank you. I am sorry for being weak and fragile. You probably are not crying now coz I have cried them all already. I am sorry for being so frightened, for just sitting in the corner, for always dwelling on what ifs and buts. And thank you. Thank you for striving to change me, for standing up even if it was really hard, for taking a step forward even when I keep looking back. You are now brave, not too brave I know. But at least you now say no to things that deserve a no. You are breathing freely now.

I am happy to have written this letter to you with the hopes that everything I have penned is right. But really, more than for you, I think this letter is for me, too. A reminder, or some sort. I will see you soon.