A letter to myself, 2012.
She’s wishing she was older.
I remember being drenched in a pool of tears as I was facing the sideways of my pillow, crying my heart out while the street lights from a small window shone over me.
I remember vividly how the orange hues softly illuminated my dark room, how the buzzing silence of the dawn was engulfed by my sobs, and how I was showered with thoughts of getting older.
I was six. I was wishing I was older — to make decisions for myself, to be unrestricted with parents’ rules, and to have the freedom in almost everything that I thought all teenagers had.
Hence, the time was moving slowly and I screamed to the stars to make it faster.
Now that I am already the one that I’ve always wished for, I have deep regrets and wish that I lived as a toddler longer than I already had.
I am eighteen. Twelve years had passed and now I’m still drowning in memories that I hope I cherished while living in that moment .
However, learning from my own experiences. I was taught that dwelling into something that’s already in the past is as much as yearning for something that is unseen in the future.
I was left with the thought that; life should be appreciated more while you’re in the moment.
At the end of the day, we only had regrets in the days we wished we could turn back.
