To My Younger Self: A Letter of Remembrance
A Conversation
Winter sun and summer fun. Do you remember? Every three to four years our father was posted to a new place (always in the summer break).
The anticipation of moving. Crockery, clothes, mounds of books, all packed securely. The kitchen had to be packed too. Where would we eat breakfasts, lunches and dinners for the three or four days before travel began was our guessing game. And then we would arrive in the new town. New school, new friends, a new home. It was exciting.
Remember what else made it exciting? helped us settle in? All the aunts and uncles and cousins who visited, as excited as we were to be in a new city. The adults planned their day — museums, zoos, parks, evening theater. Not to forget new foods — each state has its own cuisine which had to be sampled. We waited with bated breath to hear what would the menu of the day! You, dear one, longed for the southern cuisine, but did not let the adults know.
We lazed in the sun. Planned the games we would play. Carrom and checkers and bagatelle in the heat of the day, tag and hide-and-seek and hopscotch in the evening. Cricket, your favorite outdoor game, if we could muster enough players. You were a good player.
How distant those days seem. We are wise elders now, dispensing wisdom to any and all. Does my lofty age-created pinnacle permit me to say something to you dear young’un?
You were a quiet person. Shy, fearful of speaking up, of asking for anything. Remember when the bangle seller came home with her wondrous ware? Glass bangles of all designs and colors, sparkling in the sun. I remember still. Nita, our very talkative friend, was immediately attracted.
“Come,” she said, taking you along.
“Me first. I like the red bangles,” she said.
The seller held her hand and gently slipped on the bangles.
“Dear me, no,” said Nita. “I don’t like red. The blue one please.”
It took a long time for Miss Nita to find something she liked.
And then it was your turn. The bangle seller saw your glance, picked up the pretty red bangles. They were a little tight. She jiggled them gently to get them on your wrist.
“Do you like them?” she asked.
You nodded your thanks and left.
“She should have said they were tight,” Nita’s mother spoke. “That girl, she never opens her mouth.”
Dear Self. That was your truth then. To be quiet, to not say one word more than you considered necessary. You lived in a place of acceptance. The bangles WERE tight, but I know what you were thinking: the bangle seller didn’t mean to hurt. That peace, dear one, is precious, and precious gems need great care.
Maybe I was not as careful. Somewhere along the way I lost it. This world of ours can be a harsh place. It twists us around and around till we become human pretzels, unaware of what is up, where is down, where is left, what is right. Rushing always to be what another wanted, I forgot the core that is ME.
What I do remember is Mom’s advice. A very long time ago, half in jest, you asked her,
“Mom, who is your best friend?”
“I am my best friend,” Mom replied.
You and I are one being — I. And so I’m writing to myself — my best friend, asking how to regain that peace. Will you hold my hands as I walk down memory lane? We will revel in the merriment. And when we come to the fork where I took the road not to be walked on, you will, in your gentle way, point the path to take.
With all my love dear one. I may have lost the peace but love abounds still, in full measure and brimming over.
