Dear young me… I fucking hate you. Not once in your youthful, pain-free, handsome days, did you think about me. You selfish prick! This has been such a one-way relationship from day one. You, you, you, is all you thought about. No consideration for the old folk or their troubles. The sad thing for me, is that I think of you all the time. I even talk about you to everyone I know, but do I even get one mention in your life – apart from will I still have hair? You… vain, arrogant, self-centered wanker! All that money you earned and spent on yourself – not a care for me or my need for it to help me through retirement. You lived in the era of consumerism – the ideology of Saul Bellow’s, Henderson, the Rain King and his “I want, I want, I want” doctrine.
Too much choice is what you were spoiled with, and boy, did you sample so much in your hedonistic existence. It didn’t surprise me that you couldn’t keep a steady relationship. Those wide blue eyes wandering through the possibilities of opportunity and wondering about the potential for hidden pleasures, left a trail of tears from those that cared about you. You had stability and security, but you fucked up that part of your life, didn’t you. Many times, wandering and wondering. That should be the epitaph on your gravestone. No self-control, no care for consequence, no supervision. You just made up the rules as you went merrily along your self-guided path to destination hurt and regret.
Remember that woman who called you son? She’s gone now. Died alone in a place she didn’t want to be and in the middle of a pandemic preventing you from travelling to the other side of the planet to bury her. You probably don’t care about that, anyway, do you. The first chance you got to spread your wings and fly the coup, you did – never looking back. You saw her as controlling and from a former era with bygone morals and fueled by ancient religious theories. A hypocritical example of fairy-tale superstitions from a land that believes in leprechauns. What you didn’t see was her undying love for you, her selflessness when it came to all things you, and her devoted pride in all things you did and were. You took and took and took. You may think you gave back with your obligatory return to the nest on holidays, but those trips were just a veiled excuse for needing something from her – mainly money. Apart from that, you lived your life in total polar opposites – even crossing the oceans like two ships passing in the night every time she tried to move closer to you. Well, she’s no longer here to embarrass you, so you can put that piece of future into your calendar to look forward to. I can’t wait for that chunk of regret to catch up with you.
You may think I’m just being bitter. I’m not. You may feel that I’m jealous of your youthfulness. I’m… not… much… You’re probably thinking, who the fuck is this letter from? Well, it’s from a time yet to come, when your back aches after bending, your knees buckle when you stand, and your deep blue eyes need binoculars to read a book. All foreign to you. Live for today is your motto. The future can wait. Well, I am the eternal reminder of what living for yesterday does to your mind and soul. It erodes your self-respect, it sours your outlook on life, and it clouds your judgement. I sincerely hope you come to the realisation that a change in attitude will steer you in the right direction to a happy life. I want you to find the someone that centres you and makes you happy, like I have. It may take a while, but growth needs to come first and believe me, you will grow and blossom and mellow. I say this because the wholesome truth is that I don’t really hate you. Hate is just a word to garner attention. The truth is that I very much care about you – whether you know it or not. What you do in your time affects me in mine. Life is a journey and my sole purpose for this letter is an attempt to guide you toward a contentment in life that few get to experience.
You, are a series of memories, stories, and adventures that have shaped who I am. My life story is being written by you each and every waking moment. Even now, there are still many chapters ahead, but what you do in your chapter, will determine whether this autobiography is a comedy, a tragedy, or just historical fiction. That’s a lot of weight on your shoulders, but I guarantee the day will come when you look back on your own past with a reflective and analytical approach to self-healing. Then, you may comprehend what I now understand. Perhaps you may decide to write to your younger self with advice that most young people ignorantly disregard. Perhaps, your younger self will take note, will look forward to their silver days, and prepare for it. Hopefully, they won’t leave you with such a mountain of debt that takes decades to clear. Wisely, they will save for that inevitable rainy day. Optimistically, they won’t ignore advice from those that are in position to give it.
You will come to terms with the absence of a father through your cumulative junior years. You will forgive those family members that once lived for the thrill of turmoil and conflict, subjecting you to being a vulnerable witness to domestic violence. Most assuredly, you will gladly distance yourself from that world in which you struggled to prosper intellectually and emotionally. Like me, those experiences will mould you and create a person that will bloom later than most. You may not be there yet, but you will get there. Just hang on in and remember to always be a good person, instead of the uncaring, fuckwit you currently are. If youth is indeed wasted on the young, I wish I could return to your time with the knowledge accumulated since you. I would arrive loaded with the inner peace and wisdom that took years to develop – in the attempt to straighten up your life, and possibly alter your destiny. However, I fear that would dematerialise what this you - now has, and probably change who this you - currently is. It may even rob the future you of the love of your life, and without any doubt, the love of my life. Certainly, it would also raise the question of who you would become? No, it’s best I don’t interfere. I do not want to tempt fate, so I will just mail this letter to a time before you land, where its words of wisdom may find a clear passage to the dreams of the sleeping, slowly filtering through the sands of time to be revealed in a moment of clarity.
This you, and your you, are intrinsically connected through the passage of time and space. You don’t know me, but I certainly know you, and you will most definitely know me in the future. Remember, through your actions and decisions, you make me… I wholeheartedly encourage you to be the hero of our journey… So, please don’t fuck it up.
Seek guidance, choose carefully, remain auspicious, and the future you, will always thank you for that.
Love… Me, yourself, and I.