Dear Future Me
By Michelle Tian
Asteria didn’t think she had the strength anymore. She didn’t think she had the power to pull herself out from the darkness that threatened to consume her whole; she just kept sinking -- deeper and deeper and deeper until she was surrounded by such hatred and disgust. Her mind was a constant poison that filled her body with venom; she was drowning in a sea of depression, and she knew she was not going to make it.
She was not going to make it, she was not going to make it.
She was not going to make it.
A cry ripped from her throat, echoing through the walls and ringing her ears. She curled in on herself, hating everything that had happened, hating herself, hating the world for being so cruel to her. She just wanted to live the life of her dreams -- that was it. Why did everything always have to come down on her like she didn’t deserve happiness?
Maybe she didn’t. Maybe everything that had happened was part of a greater meaning -- a message that life was trying to send her. Perhaps she deserved all of this… deserved all the hate, all the heartbreak.
Asteria curled in on herself further, savouring the warmth that spread through her body. She would be here for a long time; there was no home to go back to. Her mother had died, her father didn’t care for her, and her brother would rather kill himself than help her.
Night had fallen fast upon the forest. No more than an hour ago, the sky had been painted with hues of red, orange, and pink, streaks of paint from an artist. But now, all colour had faded, leaving only a matte black canvas with no stars to be looked upon. The darkness was so thick that Asteria had to swallow in the air as greed overtook her body.
Other than the darkness and herself, the only thing that seemed to exist in the universe was the icy wind; its harsh bite could be felt through her thin layer of clothing. She felt the hairs on her arm rise and sway gently with the breeze.
Burning, hot tears slipped from her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away. Mother had always told her that crying took away her hydration, and during desperate times, she should save the emotions for later. For when she was rescued.
She reached over for her cloak that hung by the nearest branch from the tree that she had took shelter beside. She grunted with effort but managed to snatch it, letting out a sigh of relief when the clothing fell to the ground, blowing icy air into her face. Asteria grabbed the cloak and tied it around her body. There was the faint rustling of paper as she shoved her hands into her pockets.
Frowning, she looked down and fished out a piece of paper that had been crumbled. With shivering hands, she unrolled it and started to read her own scrawny writing.
Asteria didn’t think she had the strength anymore. She didn’t think she had the power to pull herself out from the darkness that threatened to consume her whole; she just kept sinking -- deeper and deeper and deeper until she was surrounded by such hatred and disgust. Her mind was a constant poison that filled her body with venom; she was drowning in a sea of depression, and she knew she was not going to make it.
She was not going to make it, she was not going to make it.
She was not going to make it.
A cry ripped from her throat, echoing through the walls and ringing her ears. She curled in on herself, hating everything that had happened, hating herself, hating the world for being so cruel to her. She just wanted to live the life of her dreams -- that was it. Why did everything always have to come down on her like she didn’t deserve happiness?
Maybe she didn’t. Maybe everything that had happened was part of a greater meaning -- a message that life was trying to send her. Perhaps she deserved all of this… deserved all the hate, all the heartbreak.
Asteria curled in on herself further, savouring the warmth that spread through her body. She would be here for a long time; there was no home to go back to. Her mother had died, her father didn’t care for her, and her brother would rather kill himself than help her.
Night had fallen fast upon the forest. No more than an hour ago, the sky had been painted with hues of red, orange, and pink, streaks of paint from an artist. But now, all colour had faded, leaving only a matte black canvas with no stars to be looked upon. The darkness was so thick that Asteria had to swallow in the air as greed overtook her body.
Other than the darkness and herself, the only thing that seemed to exist in the universe was the icy wind; its harsh bite could be felt through her thin layer of clothing. She felt the hairs on her arm rise and sway gently with the breeze.
Burning, hot tears slipped from her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away. Mother had always told her that crying took away her hydration, and during desperate times, she should save the emotions for later. For when she was rescued.
She reached over for her cloak that hung by the nearest branch from the tree that she had took shelter beside. She grunted with effort but managed to snatch it, letting out a sigh of relief when the clothing fell to the ground, blowing icy air into her face. Asteria grabbed the cloak and tied it around her body. There was the faint rustling of paper as she shoved her hands into her pockets.
Frowning, she looked down and fished out a piece of paper that had been crumbled. With shivering hands, she unrolled it and started to read her own scrawny writing.
Dear Future Me,
Hi! It’s sixteen year old Asteria here. I’m not really sure why I’m writing this to you; I don’t even know if you’ll ever see this, but… I’m feeling a little optimistic today. I got an A on my science test -- finally! It’s not that much of an achievement, but regardless, I still wanted to write a little happy letter in case things get rough in the future.
Life is hard. I understand it is, but you have to push through those hard days. You have such strength in you and throwing that away is one of the worst things you can ever do to yourself. Don’t give up. Please. You have to hope that tomorrow will be better. If not tomorrow, then the day after that. And the day after that. I promise you that life will eventually even itself out. I know I’m only sixteen, and I’m still trying to learn from my mistakes, but I do know one thing. Hope anchors the soul. Before you give all that up, think of the reason why you held on for so long. Fight for that glimmer of a fairy tale. Because it exists.
You may be thinking that hope won’t matter. That you’ve lost all hope. But stop for one second. Reach inside that heart of yours, and look for that glimmer of light. Look hard and fish it out. Let it shine; let it lighten your world and give you the strength to keep fighting whatever you’re going through. You are beautiful, worthy, and strong. Don’t give up on that. Don’t give up on writing your story -- of making the life of your dreams come true. Never stop looking up. Keep fighting with every fiber in your body. I love you, and if that’s not enough, remember this:
You’ve got a new story to write. And it looks nothing like your past. What has happened before does not define who you are now. The choice to be better starts with you and only you. All you have to do is hope. Hold on. Pain ends.
There we go. I’m not sure how old you are when you read this, but just remember the last two sentences, and hopefully, this letter will have somewhat of an impact on your life. Here’s to us. And the future. Thank you for taking your time to read this, Future Me! I’m going to treat myself with chocolate now for finally getting an A on my science test. Goodbye!
Asteria
September 7, 2008
There was no holding in her waterworks as her eyes started to burn. Tears fell down her face, and this time, she didn’t try to wipe them away. She just kept reading the letter over and over again, her chest heaving with sobs. The letter was shaking in her hands, and the tears started to blur her vision. She sniffed, such an un-ladylike sound that it almost shocked her.
An inner battle was taking place in her head. She had been a mere sixteen years old when she had written this letter; she didn’t write it so it would have an impact on her in the future. She was somebody different now, and nobody could judge who she had become. But another voice inside of her spoke, and it got the better of her.
Yes, she was strong. This may be one of the harder parts of her life, but there would be happiness soon enough. And if she killed herself now, she would never be able to experience that joy that life would bring her. It was going to end -- this pain. She had been sure of it as a sixteen year old; she was sure of it now. It was going to be okay, as long as she fought through this.
Her hands trembled with frustration, and she looked up at the starless sky, yelling, and letting all her emotions flow out from her. She didn’t know what to do. She wanted to keep fighting, but she didn’t know how. She didn’t know if her father was going to even bother taking care of her, and she knew her brother would never even talk to her.
Asteria looked down at the letter one more time.
And froze.
Don’t give up on writing your story -- of making the life of your dreams come true. You’ve got a new story to write. And it looks nothing like your past.
She looked up from her writing and gave a dead stare at the forest beyond her. Out there -- out in the world, just a reach away, was everything she dreamed of being able to do. She was so close; all she had to do was fight through this, and then her dreams would come true. She would write her story from scratch, and it would be the most beautiful story she could ever dream of. She knew it. In her heart, in her veins.
So with that, Asteria reached in. She reached into her heart, found that small glimmer of light.
And let it consume her.
An inner battle was taking place in her head. She had been a mere sixteen years old when she had written this letter; she didn’t write it so it would have an impact on her in the future. She was somebody different now, and nobody could judge who she had become. But another voice inside of her spoke, and it got the better of her.
Yes, she was strong. This may be one of the harder parts of her life, but there would be happiness soon enough. And if she killed herself now, she would never be able to experience that joy that life would bring her. It was going to end -- this pain. She had been sure of it as a sixteen year old; she was sure of it now. It was going to be okay, as long as she fought through this.
Her hands trembled with frustration, and she looked up at the starless sky, yelling, and letting all her emotions flow out from her. She didn’t know what to do. She wanted to keep fighting, but she didn’t know how. She didn’t know if her father was going to even bother taking care of her, and she knew her brother would never even talk to her.
Asteria looked down at the letter one more time.
And froze.
Don’t give up on writing your story -- of making the life of your dreams come true. You’ve got a new story to write. And it looks nothing like your past.
She looked up from her writing and gave a dead stare at the forest beyond her. Out there -- out in the world, just a reach away, was everything she dreamed of being able to do. She was so close; all she had to do was fight through this, and then her dreams would come true. She would write her story from scratch, and it would be the most beautiful story she could ever dream of. She knew it. In her heart, in her veins.
So with that, Asteria reached in. She reached into her heart, found that small glimmer of light.
And let it consume her.
Three Years Later
Asteria set down her bucket of paint into her blank room and looked around. There was so much space -- so much space to paint everything she wanted that she didn’t know where to start. Four white walls surrounded her, and that was it. The room was absolutely blank, like a new piece of paper, ready to be drawn on. She let out a loud sigh and turned back when she heard soft footsteps stop near her door.
Her brother leaned against the doorframe, cocking his head and viewing the room with curiosity in his emerald eyes. He met her gaze and grinned.
“Go ahead,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “Do whatever your heart desires, Asteria. You can paint the walls pink for all I care.”
Asteria smiled. “Whatever my heart desires?”
He nodded.
She let out a small squeal and ran over, giving him a rib-crushing embrace. He let out an airy oof before returning her hug and squeezing her back even tighter. She gasped for air, and he laughed as he let her go, kissing her on the forehead and giving her a quick wink before heading out and down the stairs.
Asteria turned back to her room, barely able to keep her feet still from all the excitement. This was hers. Everything in here was hers. She let out another squeal and reached for the paint that was still on the ground. She sweeped the room with her eyes and --
Her gaze landed on the cloak that hung by the door.
Warily, she walked over and picked the cloak from the doorknob. She gave a sniff and wrinkled her nose in disgust at the smell. Why did she still have it? Right before she dropped the cloak out the window, her hands skimmed across the pocket, and she heard a slight crinkle of paper.
She frowned but took out a small note that had been buried inside the pocket, opening it with narrowed eyes.
Her heart stopped.
It was the same note that had given her strength during the darkest times. The Dear Future Me note that had given her hope of a better life and future. It was the reason why she now had a loving brother and a home to come back to. Her eyes burned with tears as she reread the same words she had three years ago.
This. This was the thing that had made her reach for the light inside of her soul when the world crushed in on herself with such vast darkness and hatred. She crumbled the note and held it close to herself, right beside her heart. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Thank you,” Asteria whispered to her past self, ignoring the tears. “Thank you for saving my life.”
With that, she set the note on the ground and picked up the paint again. She knew exactly how she was going to design her walls. Asteria dipped her paintbrush into the yellow paint -- the colour of happiness and hope. She swished all four of her walls with the colour, and then dipped into the black bucket of paint to write the words that rang of nothing but the truth.
Asteria faced the wall that she would see if she walked through her door frame. She lifted her paintbrush.
And wrote four words.
Hold on.
Pain ends.
