A Letter to My 12-year-old Self

Where were you?
In class 7.

Yes, you met one of your best friends.

One you still love,

And play hide and seek with on Skype.

She thought you were weird.

But she loved you anyway.

 

Where were you?

Not too young,

But definitely not old.

You were mature.

You always said that.

“I’m so mature,”

More than everyone else around.

You gave advice to girls with boyfriends.

Though the only relationship you had

Was with the internet.

 

Oh God. Mistakes.

 

Where were you?

Making a skit.

Your idea,

But you got a side role.

Too junior. Too short hair.

And yet, you made it your own.

Made the short appearance

The star.

Became famous

In that little school,

On that little hill.

Didn’t know it, but you were director.

Later.

You were a good director;

And an actor.

You were good.

 

That too was lost. Mistakes.

 

So many friendships lost. Mistakes.

 

So many, many injustices.

Remember when you stopped bicycling?

Of course you do.

I’m here to tell you, it wasn’t your fault.

It wasn’t your top.

You were fucking twelve.

 

I can’t rescue you.

There were things you dealt with.

So many things you’d still have to deal with.

 

And so many victories too.

Lands and people you never thought you’d experience,

You do.

You rise, and shine.

 

Yes, you get a good result.

Don’t worry.

You get into a good university.

Don’t worry.

Yes, boys notice you.

And yes, girls too.

You live a life beyond your imagination.

I think I make you proud.

 

I hope I will continue to.

You know, I’m waiting for you to rescue me.

Yes.

The weirdo so afraid of being so weird;

But so, so proud too!

I still don’t understand you.

The one who takes a side role

And makes it the star of the show.

The one who finds friends,

Friends of the heart;

Becomes the star of their lives.

Despite bad first impressions,

Horrible first impressions.

 

You have saved the day so many times.

You have saved yourself every time.

Come and save me too.

I still need you.

This never ends;

Fumbling through the straws for the needle.

Every victory ends.

And I look for you.

 

I’m scared

That some day

The memories will fade

And I will forget you.

The 12-year-old you –

Going through so, so much;

Yet, so, so proud.

I love you.

 

 

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