A Letter to My Sixteen-Year-Old Self

Dear Old Me

I miss you. I wish you were here. You’d be so pleased. I’m in my last year of college. I’m not majoring in Media and Management like you wanted me to though. Also, I know Management was your way of making mum happy because that’s what she wanted for you. Well, I don’t make people happy. No, instead I make them very very unhappy. I fight and argue with them all the time because I’m sick and tired of everyone else making decisions about my life. It’s MY life.
I wanted to choose Media and Management. Believe me, I really did! For some reason I was unable to choose that combination so I went with Media and English instead. I thought if journalism didn’t work out I would be a teacher instead and write a novel in my spare time. (Btw, speaking of novels, your second one was rejected too. You took it pretty well though. You didn’t cry).
Anyway, Media was a total bore. I wanted to suffer through it for your sake but like I said before, I don’t do things for other people. Not even you. Besides I was the one who would have to suffer through the classes. I deserved to study something I would enjoy.
So I chose Criminology. Except I’ve recently discovered that to be a Criminologist you need a PhD. I don’t understand why no one mentioned that before. Obviously I’m not going to be a criminologist now since I can neither afford nor do I want to study beyond my three years. English is pretty boring but I love it. It’s so great looking at a piece of literature that makes no sense and then slowly unravelling it piece by piece.
I don’t write as often as you do. I stopped to focus on school. I do however have a blog. I bet that thrills you. You always wanted a blog.
I review books and talk about life as a college student in general.
There’s something you need to know -those petty people you keep complaining about? Yeah the world is full of them. Sorry. So whether you become home-schooled or not you’re still going to have to face them eventually.
But that isn’t why I wrote this letter. I’m writing this letter to tell you how incredible you are. I know you’re probably rolling your eyes but it’s true.
At sixteen you were fearless. You wrote articles and submitted them to any email address you found. I can’t even pitch an idea to anyone because the mere thought terrifies me.
You were eager to get a job and be independent. I applied to three retail positions and cried when I didn’t get any. Yes I cried.
Here’s the thing though- I’ve been through so much shit. Life was easier for you. Your biggest problem was whether you should nap or log onto your social media. You have no idea how cruel the world is. And now I’m cruel too. I’m cynical and jaded. Just thinking of your ridiculous optimistim annoys me. I want to travel back in time and smack you on the head. But that would probably hurt me. Actually no, I think it would totally be worth it.
There’s one more thing you have that I want. You have my dog. You get to see her alive daily and you don’t even appreciate it. Now I’m going to start crying so I’m stopping here (you know she’s not going to be around forever but it doesn’t hurt any less when it is time for her to go).
All this is to say that I miss you, I’m jealous of you and I hate you. You’re annoyingly happy and so very naive. I wish you would have stayed that way. I wish the world hadn’t ruined you.

Sincerely
Me

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