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My dearest Younger Me,
The aroma of fresh pine needles is thick in the air, snowflakes melt on my fingertips, and a familiar chill tingles down my spine. On New Year’s Eve, as the world seems poised on the precipice of change, ready to shed the skin of the old and embrace the possibilities of the new, I watch the fireworks paint the sky in ephemeral bursts of colour, my thoughts turning inwards, not to the future, but to you.
I know what you’re thinking. Another year older, another year closer to the precipice of adulthood, a word that used to loom large with both excitement and trepidation. You’re clutching onto the last vestiges of childhood, clinging to scraped knees and scraped egos with equal fervour. The world whispers of expectations, responsibilities, and milestones, and you’re determined to hold onto the carefree laughter and unblemished dreams for just a little bit longer.
I won’t lie, there will be challenges, moments when the weight of the world seems to press down on you like a suffocating blanket. You’ll stumble, you’ll fall, and your heart will break in ways you couldn’t imagine now. But trust me, darling, these cracks only allow light to seep in, illuminating the resilience you never knew you possessed.
Remember that time you climbed the tallest tree in the backyard, fear gnawing at your stomach but determination burning brighter? You made it to the top, shaky legs and triumphant grin, and the world stretched out before you, boundless and full of promise. That, my dear, is the essence of who you are – the tenacious climber, the unyielding dreamer, the one who looks at an obstacle and whispers, “Challenge accepted.”
Don’t let anyone dim your flame. There will be voices that tell you to conform, to fit into neatly constructed boxes. Ignore them. Your brilliance lies in your unconventionality, your refusal to be confined by labels and limitations. Let your heart be your compass, your curiosity your map, and your laughter your guiding star.
Embrace the awkwardness, the messy hairstyles, the ill-timed jokes; they are the brushstrokes that paint the canvas of your unique story. Don’t be afraid to be different, to trip over your words, to dance to your own rhythm. The world needs your unfiltered joy, your infectious enthusiasm, your unwavering belief in the power of a genuine smile.
Love fiercely, darling. Love your family, your friends, even the grumpy neighbour who yells at his cat. Love with open arms and open hearts, even when it hurts. Because in the end, it’s not the bruises you collect, but the love you give that defines you.
There will be days when doubt whispers in your ear, when the dreams you clutched so tightly seem to slip through your fingers like sand. But remember, even the sturdiest oak tree grows from a single seed, its roots anchoring it against the strongest winds. Your dreams are those roots, reaching deep into the soil of your potential. Nurture them, water them with unwavering faith, and watch them rise tall, casting their own shade of wonder on the world.
Yes, the years will tick by, marking the passage of time on the calendar of your life, but don’t let the number become your definition – you are not a sum of achievements or accolades. You are a kaleidoscope of experiences, a symphony of emotions, a universe of potential waiting to unfold.
So, my dear Younger Me, as the clock strikes midnight and the world welcomes a new chapter, carry this letter close to your heart. Remember the sparkle in your eyes, the fire in your soul, and the unwavering belief in the magic that is you. The world needs your light, your laugh, your unyielding spirit. Go forth, conquer your fears, embrace your journey, and never, ever lose sight of the girl you are and the woman you will become.
With love and a touch of nostalgia,
Your Older Self
P.S. And yes, you finally mastered that cartwheel you practiced for years. And trust me, the ice cream after was totally worth it.
The post Farida Yahya: New Year, Old Me – A Letter to My Younger Self appeared first on BellaNaija – Showcasing Africa to the world. Read today!.
