Love Letters to Myself

I turned 31 years old today. And I found myself in conversations with 10, 19, 23, 28 years old versions of myself. A new tradition that I will be keeping for the rest of my life.

Unsurprisingly, the nineteen years old came first, barging in as if she owned the place (which, in essence, she technically did).

She was a brave one. She had guts, tenacity, and intensity that matched none, bar her twenty-three years old counterpart. She was donning graphic fandom t-shirt (that I sorely miss) and a pair of well-worn jeans, with disheveled lightly highlighted hair and tinted Burt’s Bees lipbalm & haphazardly drawn eyebrows as makeup. I greeted, "happy birthday." She nodded, her eyes sparkling with questions of which I was pretty sure it was not about my hijab.

Without preamble, she asked, “Will we survive coincidences & fate? How are we faring with The Cold Distant Origin?”. I laughed, gesturing her to drink her iced ocha because she looked so lost yet so eager to move. I recalled then and there that she still had the pivotal balance of youthful optimism and recklessness, something that acted as a necessary fuel to live.  I was about to open my mouth when both of us heard the table next to us spinning tales about life elsewhere; about the busy existence of stranger's life in London and Cardiff.

We locked eyes, looking at each other pointedly, especially after the bartender called out the stranger's name. My nineteen years old self silently repeated the name, tasting how familiar and forever foreign the name on her tongue. She closed her eyes briefly. Sighing deeply while looking at our table number, she said, “It won’t ever be over, will it?” I shook my head with a smile, “No, as a matter of fact, there will be new reasons for those coincidences. And also, there will be a reunion; perhaps 2010 heartbreak isn’t enough for them. Our reunion with cold distant origin, though, will happen only once so far. Ironically in a sunny land two hours away from here. But he's happily married now. And he will always remind you that you still owe him a visit."

"Okay, then. We'll find a way to visit. We owe him the same kindness back, at least." she decided, tying her straw's plastic cover. Nodding back, I asked, "Don't you want to know anything else about the future?" She shook her head, "I'm not sure it will do me any good, you know, adding anxious thoughts to my head?" She took her leave, mumbling her goodbye and mentioning she had hairdo appointment for her birthday dinner. I smiled widely at her, not letting her know that her birthday party venue no longer existed in my timeline.

The twenty-eight years old did a double take when she saw me wearing hijab.

I was pretty sure she hadn't got the chance to go to Bali just yet, however her skin was glowing due to her intensive skincare routine. I adored it since I barely got the time to do that. Her golden brown curly hair billowing in the air as she sat down in the chair in front of me. I loved what she was wearing today, yellow handmade dress by our cousin that was gifted by our mother, and the prettiest pink-yellow trainers to match. She smiled and nodded politely at me. Surprisingly, her first question was, "Do we still have birthday blues? Do we still cry on our birthdays?"

I hated this look on her, a defeated and timid shell of a firey woman; so I took one of her hands in mine and I caressed her lovely mane—she deserved softness. "Not anymore, my love. We've been having literal happy birthdays for the past three years." She closed her eyes, seemingly trying to soothe herself. I used this chance to study her features, how she was mine but I was not hers yet. How we still had the same manicured eyebrows (courtesy of a special wand from Benefit), glowing dewy skin, and pink lips. She recently had a hair makeover, so her haircolour was still in its prime and her refined bangs was framing her face. Judging by her lightly stained lips, I deduced that she just got back from her trip to the mall with her boyfriend. "You got thinner," she suddenly said. "Took us six months, but it was well worth the efforts. There will be so many things that you will experience the next three years." I explained.

"Will this," she asked, gesturing at my hijab, "happen alongside our weight loss?". I pursed my lips. Even though this younger version of me felt everything so passionately and intensely, but her credo was her relentless need to flee. It was easier for her to safeguard her sanity and heart if she had the chance to leave before everything turned to dust. I tried to gently answer by saying, "If you are asking if they were caused by heartbreak, the simple answer is no. But, I'm sure you've figured out that I'm not wearing any ring on my fingers." she nodded and sat a little stiffer as if bracing for physical whiplash that would come no matter which answer I would provide her. She looked me in the eyes and asked, "Will it hurt?"

"At first, for a few days. But, you found God..." I smiled, urging her to complete my sentence the only way we both knew how, "And religion too..." she finished. I took her hands fully in mine, "Don't you want to know what great things that would happen out of it? Don't you want to know about the potential of happiness that you'd have in the future without the necessary need of a man?" She looked pensive for a moment as if not daring to imagine herself feeling happy without her coveted romantic love that she was currently receiving from her beau. Seeing her hopeless face, it was then that I decided she should try iced cashew latte to soothe her nerves. Distracting myself with iced coffee had always worked.

As she sipped on her coffee, I regaled her with the positive things that she would experience in the future, "... your friends will get married, you will attend your favourite boyband's concert and sit in the front row, you will be reunited with your loved ones and their kids, you will attend so many religious seminars, you will cry over the intensity of love and kindness that you feel from your Lord, you will update your daily dose of fashion content with the hashtag OOTDilly and everyone will take pleasure in seeing you update them, obviously you will lose weight, you will find new favourite colleagues and they will help you heal with your body image and body dysmorphia, you will travel to so many places that you never thought you would go, you will work on your insecurities because you won't hold men's opinions over your own self image, you will find a surprise reunion and ally to your woes with a special kind of dynamic; but, what I am most grateful about, you will work on your relationship with your parents. And, like all relationships, it is work. You will be required to discuss with them, exchange opinions, debate them, and spend some time with them."

She seemed to be in a trance. I gave her all the time that she could have. She always seemed to be in a rush to go somewhere; she'd reply she would want to go home. Whatever she wanted, she would get from me. She deserved some space to think without judgement and prejudice. I took this opportunity to study her again. She looked so young, but she looked like she was burdened by her love and her need. She wanted to feel desired, not necessarily loved. In this iteration, she would still be clueless, but she would someday soon after endless self-improvement sessions.

With unshed tears in her eyes, she exhaled loudly. "Our mother was right—but, what's all these for?" I took a sip on my cold whisked matcha. "You will learn a lot; from him and from the relationship. Don't fret, there are a lot of optimistic takes. You will understand that romantic love is not the end all be all. All your efforts are never for nothing." All of the sudden, a look of determination flashed across her face; I knew she just found another game plan. She nodded and bid farewell, "Okay, then. Thank you for the heads up. I need to rearrange everything."

Loud music blasting from orange headphone was the first thing I noticed when I saw my twenty-three years old.

She must be listening to to her therapists, I thought to myself. Was she listening to Head-to-Head playlist, I found myself wondering. What a young woman, releasing chapbook at the tender age of twenty-three. "Happy birthday." I greeted her.

Taking off her headphone, she responded, "Happy birthday! How is everything? Are we loved? Have we released a new book? Are we living our dreams—wait, how old are you?" Her endless barrage of questions came without any breath seeping through her words. I chuckled in response, she was an endless ball of anxiousness. I loved this iteration of mine, but I wouldn't want to be her anymore.

"Calm down, my love. Come, sit down, drink your earl grey. I'm thirty-one. Everything is not-as nerve-wracking anymore. We are very much loved, though, as you may observe, not romantically loved just yet. We had it once, but it was not the kind that was meant for you. We haven't released new book, but we have found so many inspirations. There will be another subject after Almost Love, but unfortunately he won't stay in our lives for long. Yes, we are living our dreams of being content and feeling loved and basking in warmth. You will understand soon that they are not because of romantic love or living abroad." I tried to explain, I hoped she could read between the lines.

She finished sipping on her earl grey, afterwards she took a pen and a notebook from her worn trusty yellow backpack. I reckoned she wanted to capture everything. "What will happen to Almost Love?" this version of me had yet released her second chapbook. A surprise was in store for her. I took a breather before I could answer her. It was not easy to string a sentence without giving everything away. "He is fine. He is great, actually. After five years of radio silence, something that he vehemently detested, we are now closer than ever, surprisingly."

I could tell my response puzzled her. "Closer as in together?" she pointed at my hijab. "No, my love. We have concluded that we are not compatible that way. But, don't worry, we still like teasing him and his fingerprints still stain most of our writings. His image in your head right now is abundantly better than who he is."

"It's like you're speaking in tongues." she accused. Her anxiety never allowed her to stay still and receive mixed responses; she wanted things to happen fast and now. I took her hands in mine, her soft hands betrayed her toughness. "Baby, you don't really have to figure everything now. And, by the way, you will see them soon. It will be glorious. He will be there, too, virtually."

She bit her lip, finally understood how everything would fall into place at its time and place. "Okay, so, I'll just have wait to be patient?" she emphasised the last word with disgust and uneasiness. We both hated the concept of being patience. "Unfortunately, that's what we'll have to do. That's the only thing that we can do actually."

"Alright," she stood up, haphazardly putting everything she owned in her bag, "Thanks for the tea, literally and figuratively. I need to tinker and write some more." She waved goodbye after putting her headphone back on, always in a rush. Always wanted to flee. Always on her feet. I couldn't wait for her to experience the next year. There would be so many things that fuel her creativity.

My ten years old was already in her birthday party attire when she met me.

Looking extra cute like a Disney Channel darling at the time; what with her bangs and ponytail, tanktop and arm warmers, and short skirt. Her smile was so wide and her laughter was loud. I will forever wonder why she was not as loved and likeable. "Hello, baby, happy birthday."

"Hi, miss, happy birthday. How old are you?" she politely asked, smiling timidly. She was not good with strangers just yet. "I'm doing great, honey. I'm 31 now. already three times your age." I tried to give her the kindest smile I could muster.

She hummed, probably trying to formulate response in English the best way she knew how. She looked down and muttered, "Do we still get bullied?" I took her chin in my left hand and stroke her ponytail with my right hand. "No, baby, we will have so many friends. We will be extra loved. Everyone will both love us and fear how positively intimidating we could be."

"Inti-mi-date-ing?" she asked, a brand new word for her, but a common denominator for me, "It's when you make people feel like they should always do good." She nodded her assent. "But, we won't bully like people at school?"

Grateful that she actually had the perturbation of being like the people she despised the most, even though she might not know it yet, she had morality and empathy that most people would not give her at her age. "Well, darling, we won't be; we will not be unreasonable when we don't like something. We won't make fun of other people. We will talk about them with our best friends, though."

She lit up so brightly at the mention of best friend. I was pretty sure the previous sentences just went over her head. "Yes, baby," I confirmed, "We have best friends. Plural. They will make us forget how friendless we were. But, you still have to be grateful of the presence of close friends that you have now." She smiled so widely and repeated the same phrase over and over again, "I have best friends. Plural."

I could see my baby brother peeking from outside. His cherubic face was flushed against the glass door, wondering where his big sister went and who was that grown woman with her who looked incredibly familiar but astonishingly strange. I waved at him and he ran away from the door, pretty sure he would run off to his babysitter. "Our baby brother is waiting for you. He can't wait to sing at your birthday. I know you hate being center of attention, but there will come a time when people will listen to you speak. And, don't worry, your brother would be less annoying as he grows older. He's actually your best friend."

Still smiling after my mentioning of best friends (plural!), she ran off to attend her birthday party. She never knew it, but she was loved.

I was bemused by my experience today. Seeing so many versions of myself trying to find me, trying to be me. They all thought they had everything figured out, they had themselves figured out. They weren't wrong, but they all lived in such survivor's mindset that they never took the time to be kind to themselves. I forgot to tell them to take as many pictures and videos as they could.

I can't wait to have versions of future me to visit me soon. I hope they bring more happiness and kindness and love and softness. They deserve them.

We all do.