Yours Truly; You.

Dear Future Me;

I hope, first of all, that this letter finds you. Secondly, I hope it finds you well.

There are many theories of how a future self can help a younger self, but knowing me so far I can tell you that you, from the future, wouldn’t change a thing or give me any word of advice. That’s because you’re still me, and I firmly wouldn’t go back to any of my even younger selves. I wouldn’t change a thing – no righting a wrong, no advice to aid in protection, and no reliving old good happiness – as I deeply understand that I am what I am because of what I’ve seen, done and learnt.  And since I – and we – are thus so self aware that we know what we have been through is what shaped us, you wouldn’t send me a letter even if you could.

So then, now comes the part where I talk to you about why I’d like to tell you some things.

I cannot hope to be a teacher to you here, as by simple mathematics you have more years in you, which includes more experiences and lessons than I in my current state can finitely hold. I do, however, distinctly hope that within these words I can be a reminder to you about the things I remember now but are maybe forgotten as I approach your age. These things are small things, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t significant enough.

Picking up on that note, I want you to remind you of the lesson you learnt while on a walk back home one fine evening when you were struck by the idea of a letter you could write. The idea struck you, but for months at long you couldn’t work out a way to formulate it into reality, so you let it be. The subconscious (a thing which fails me today, hope you have it figured out better) however, didn’t let it go, and sat on it for a good two years until one fine night it hatched into a piece of detailed inspiration; and you sat down to write it then; which eventually turned out into what you’re reading now.

You must remind yourself constantly that ideas need refining, and they mature and evolve at their own rate at times.

You must also recall the realisation you had that night; that even if you had the refined idea on the footpath during the walk, you wouldn’t have been able to pen it down the way you did two years later. You accepted the fact that back then you had just begun writing, and the idea you had required much more sophisticated skills than the ones in your arsenal. Within the next two years our growth of skill was precocious – as defined by the use of precocious – and thus you managed to jot the idea down to the justice it deserved. Maybe you, as a reader now can say that you can do a better job, and thus by making you realise that I have done my job today.

You must remind yourself that skills improve with practice and time, and some projects and achievements require different levels of the same skill set.

Throughout my life so far, I have been a terrible starter. Part of me hopes you’ve rectified that in the span between my today and your today. Part of me thinks it’s something that we just are, a klutz who just starts slow. If in case it is the latter, I want to remind you of how you always manage to grow into the role eventually, and douse the fires of people questioning you. People questioned us before and after our +2, and while it took a different amount of time for both cases of growth, we eventually ended up getting respect, admiration, and most importantly, credit. We learnt from where we were, and picked ourselves up to raise our heads high.

You must remind yourself that a slow start can always be the backbone of progress, that a man’s development may be gradual or rapid; but it should be positive and upwards.

Decision making is a part and parcel of life, and you know that as much as I do, probably even more. So if you’re facing pain due to a wrong decision or fearing pain due to it, I want to remind you of all the wrong decisions you’ve made. I want you to recall all the setbacks you think they’ve given, including the regrets, losses and, pain. Think about how they were insurmountable then, impossible to escape from. Think about how you had almost forgotten them before I asked you to reminisce about them. And I want you to then see where you are right now.

You must remind your heart that life keeps on going; anyhow, anyway, anytime, anywhere.

You must remember our first love. Not because of the cliched notions of first love but because I am so much of myself because of it, I am sure you’re much more thanks to it. Turns out, our first love was our greatest teacher which inflicted a great punishment – but that punishment reaped lessons. I want you to remember the sweetness of it, the pleasant nothingness of it. I want you to recall the passionate, irresponsible, and irrelevant happiness it caused. After that, I want you to remember succinctly why you let go the idea of love. Both, you and I know we did love after that, but we focused on being something worthwhile. We realised that a knight in a shining armour has neither his mettle nor metal tested. Yet, we needed love and it got to us from people we never thought would, and from places we never even thought twice about. Recall and reassure that belief in you that love has its way.

Keep reminding yourself that love will find you when you most need it, and it will heal you where you most need it.

It has always been our story – to seek redemption or esteem via the batons of acceptance and tolerance. So far, I seem to have failed to grasp those batons properly. Acceptance has led to a spike in my ignorance, and since I do not like ignorance, I opt for tolerance. And tolerance tests my patience. While I am currently swinging between the two, it is an imperative need for me to find a middle ground, which I hope you’ve achieved. If not, you continue to struggle to this day. I want you to remember the struggles in all accumulation, as someday it will bear the fruit of a result.

You must keep on reminding yourself that neither you nor I am the finished product, that we still share some flaws and needs some things to iron out.

So, there you go. I hope you’ve enjoyed a this little flashback as much as I look forward to becoming you. Of course, there in the future you may disagree with what I seem to have staunchly vested on, and if that’s the case, I’d love to stumble upon the idea and see if I can refurbish what I have here.

Before I take your leave, I hope I put a smile on your face.

I remain me,

Yours truly;
You.

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Letters to Celisen, May 21 2017

Dear C;

Over the past few weeks I haven’t heard from you. I’m sure that is a reason of each of our well being, which points to neither of us actually having the need to call upon each other. I actually find it rather relaxing that the only way to reach out to you is by the old fashioned letter written in solitude,  in spite of the hundreds of other ways available at our disposal to impede the sanctity of one’s time.

.
.
.

Read more at: The Best Of Halfway To Asphodel: 2015-2017!

Dear Dad;

dd

There are many things a son thinks of his father. A guide, a superhero, an idol and many more. But for me, a single word can never encompass what you mean to me.

You turn 50 today. In the half-century you’ve lived, we’ve shared 20. And for the entirety of my twenty, I would like to thank, apologize and appreciate you for all the things I’ve done and learnt.

I remember when me, mother, and sister would go away to masi‘s place for a couple of months as soon as summer set on, back in my early school days. For two months every year, you stayed away from your wife and kids, to serve your duty as the sole breadwinner of the family. You missed my birthdays too! I was too young then, but I’m slowly starting to get what kind of sacrifice that takes. Loneliness pangs more when you are habituated by company. One particular incident I recall is that when on our coming back home, I asked mother if you were coming to pick us up. Mother said no, but when we did get down on the platform, voila! There you were! I remember running to you and hugging you as tightly as I can!

Three and a half years in college, and I feel like that little me every time I come home.

I also remember when I dragged you to a toy shop, and had my eyes on a remote controlled crane. I was so fascinated by it, but it did look a little expensive, so I remember asking for it hesitatingly. You smiled, and promised me you’ll get it for me on my birthday. Fast forward to summer that year – and you came to masi‘s, and I knew from the knock that it was you. Probably because I had been asking mother all day how longer would it take for you to come. I rushed to open the door, and there you were. And in your hands, was a big box, of about the same size as the box of the toy, gift wrapped. I set my eyes on it.. for  quite a while. Mother even laughed and remarked, “He hasn’t even got eyes for his father!”

I hope I can ever keep a promise as faithfully as you did.

Flash back to my 4th standard open day. We were in the class, in front of the teacher, and you were discussing my performance. I didn’t really pay attention, but I got a hint of a couple of ‘A’s. We moved out of the classroom, and you lifted me up above your shoulders in happiness – something that still gives me the goosebumps. I had done well.

I hope I can make you that happy always.

I was never an academically proficient child. Or as you love to put it, I never fulfilled my potential for academic proficiency. However, in standard 7, I entered the National Science Olympiad and finished first in my district, thus qualifying for the second round and a certificate. Little did I know, that I had also won a gold medal for that achievement! As I rushed home with my prize, you were home, busy. I crept up behind you, and called you. As you turned, I just help up my medal. The sheer look of surprise, followed by the happiness is one of my better memories. I also recall the pride with which you analysed my scorecard later on.

I wish to make you that proud as often as I can.

Circa 2010. I had chosen science as my +2 option. The next two years were going to be the most difficult of my life. And I remember struggling for about 21 months. The sheer horror on your face when I told you I had scored 48% in my first preliminary exam. And the satisfaction on your face when my Board examinations results equalled up to 83%.

I hope to never give you such a wild ride again. Hopefully.

But there’s a lot more. A lot more you’ve told me, a lot you’ve explained to me. A lot more you’ve teased me for, and a lot more I have disappointed you in. I have been rude, angsty, immature, inconsiderate, selfish. I was probably the worst teenaged kid to handle, and I thank you, for you handled me amiably. You have told the thirteen year old me things that maybe I’ll truly grasp at thirty. You’ve invested yourself into me. You’ve developed in me a great, absolutely sensational sense of humour, and only I know how valuable it is proving to be.

You have taught me patience. You have taught me a sense of responsibility, a touch of pragmatism and wit. You’ve taught me compassion. You’ve taught me to bring the human touch into whatever I can. You’ve taught me that performance matters, not position. You’ve taught me to believe in myself – that if I need to choose between two evils, I must choose for overconfidence above low confidence.

I began writing this without a draft. I know how proudly you share my blog, and read it regularly. I thought an occasion like this, I should go for the crude, spontaneous emotion.

Happy birthday, Dad!! Hope someday, I do become a father like you.

Love,
Vishi.