Dear Younger Me,

Today I woke up to the sound of mourning doves, and it brought me back to the times when the sun poured through our ballerina curtains like warm honey. It made me remember when our world was full of simplicity, moments spent running barefoot on cool grass and anticipating the next sleepover. There were no worries, no responsibilities, just the sweet certainty that the world was mine. The most pressing question then was whether we would have enough time to play before the sky turned pink or if dino nuggets and smiley fries were for dinner. Our biggest challenge was figuring out the endless Lego instructions or racing against the wind on a bike that never felt fast enough. We didn’t know it yet, but those were the days we would wish to return to. Yes, the days where we wished we were taller and had more defined features would be the ones we would yearn for.

But now, I look at you from a different place. I want to hug and squeeze you because now I’m 18, and the world isn’t just stuffed animals and a marriage to Justin Bieber. The carefree days we once
lived have faded into the background, replaced with growing up too quickly. I find myself standing in a different house now, where the walls aren’t filled with our childhood laughs and the air too thick with unspoken things. I sometimes close my eyes and beg. Beg to anyone who might be listening, beg to gods I’ve never prayed to. I beg for a return to those days when the future was never a shadow looming over us.

I beg for the presence of a father who now hides in the basement, for the embrace of a mother who once smiled without the weight of the world pulling at the corners of her mouth. The hands that once nurtured me now reach for the bottles. I miss the days when we didn’t have to worry about what’s broken, who would pay the bills that aren’t ours to pay, or if food would be on the table.
I want to go back to a time when I didn’t have to carry the burdens of adults on my shoulders. I want to have trouble falling asleep because it’s Christmas Eve, not because of the electricity bill. I
want my mother to be able to laugh again. I want my father’s voice to fill the house, sharing sentiments as if nothing in the world could push him away.

But I am learning that the world doesn’t work like that. We can’t go back to those golden moments, no matter how much we wish for it. The future is something we must face.

So, dear younger me, while the death of our childhood dog marked the harsh, sudden, and official end to our childhood, I promise you this: we will carry the love we once had, the love that made us feel invincible, and we will carry it forward. We will break this unforgiving familial curse and hold onto the light. I have kept our Monster High dolls as an ode to the light we must never let go of. And when the days get dark, I will remember that we were once a child who believed in the impossible, and we will find the courage to keep going.

With all the love from the past and strength of the future,

Your Older Self