a letter to my future self

I remember having to write letters to "our future selves" back in 6th grade, and I remember reading mine when I reached the 8th grade.

First of all, the approximately three-year gap is nowhere near enough time for useless 13-year-olds to witness any true, meaningful growth. Second of all, that letter never really stuck with me – if I could reimagine myself as the useless 13-year-old four years ago, reading the words of an even more useless 11-year-old, I'd picture myself chuckling a little bit at the poor handwriting, folding the paper into an airplane, and flying it into the recycling bin outside the classroom.

The teachers tried to play this activity off as some sort of life-changing, "EUREKA!!!" moment – as if upon reading those letters, we'd gain divine enlightenment and harness our chi, allowing us to join Master Oogway in the spirit realm.

However, I do thank the teachers for trying, because now that I'm slightly less immature, I believe this activity is actually quite useful and spiritually awakening to a certain extent.

So here's my take on it, as a slightly less immature (and useless) 17-year-old:

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Dear Eian,

I don't know where you are right now or what the hell you're doing, but I hope it feels like something you chose – not something you had to settle into.

Right now, everything feels uncertain. Not in a dramatic, end-of-the-world way – just in that quiet, dragging sense of not knowing where anything is going. People say these years are supposed to be formative. Maybe they are. Or maybe we just say that to make the confusion seem meaningful.

I'm not writing this because I expect some big transformation by the time you read it. Honestly, I just want you to remember what it felt like to be here, in this version of yourself. The in-between. The before-anything-really-happens.

I hope you haven't outgrown the things you used to love just because you thought you were supposed to – like singing excessively loudly. I was asking Mom the other day if she still sings out loud when she's in the car by herself. She said no, because "I sound bad and can't hit the notes anymore." I hope you don't care whether or not you sound bad.

I hope you've kept at least one thing that makes no sense to anyone else but you, whether it's the way you organize your thoughts or how you always need to walk around a table while on the phone. Don't let those habits get ironed out of you just because they don't fit someone else's system. They're not flaws. They're fingerprints.

I hope you continue to stay close to your family. I think we got really lucky landing in this one, Eian. Between you and me, we definitely don't deserve it. Make sure you're calling your parents often. Make sure your brother is doing fine. Keep in touch with all your cousins, aunties, and uncles. Fly down to Taiwan and Singapore to visit your grandparents whenever you can.

I hope you've stopped looking for signs and started trusting your own timing. I hope you've realized that clarity doesn't always arrive in big, dramatic moments. Sometimes it shows up quietly, after the fact, when you're washing dishes or walking home. I hope you're patient enough to notice when it does.

I hope, more than anything, that you're still showing up. That you're paying attention. Asking questions. Still showing up for the life that you're building. And if you ever start to forget who you were, I hope this reminds you: you were never lost. You were just becoming.

Eian,