Dear Eir Twenty Years From Now

Dear Eir, twenty years from now,

I don’t know if I should be writing to you like a friend. It seems like you’re that person I used to know really well, but I ended up losing you as time passed. Maybe it’s true. Maybe it’s because I never really saw you as a friend in the first place. You would know these feelings to be familiar. You went through them.

You know that I never really liked who you were. I tried so hard to like you, but I could never fully love you the way you deserve to be loved. I don’t know if it’s because I wasn’t capable of it or if I was afraid. I think I was afraid that I could still lose you even if I loved you. I’ve always believed that love does not solve anything, and that thought scares me to no end.

I think this is one of the hardest things I had to do in my short, twenty-four years of existence. I found this so hard to write was because I never projected this far into the future. I always tell people that I feel like you won’t make it past thirty because you’ve been battling suicidal thoughts since high school.

I’m quite emotional.

I am so proud that you’ve reached this age.

At this moment, I think, what do I really want to tell you?

I find it silly. After all, you would know whatever I would tell you because you and I share memories, but I guess what I want you to remember is this moment. This small slice of your life.

Sitting on that cheap swivel chair, you bought in the Lazada 6.6 sale, a noisy electric fan that looks like it’s seen better days, blow soft, artificial wind in your direction- it doesn’t really help with the heat, but at least there is a false sense of circulation in your otherwise plain room. The walls are painted blue, chipped in some areas, and fading in others. Your bed is covered in the blue bedsheet that you hate so much because you move a lot in your sleep and it easily gets removed. The upper right side of your back is hurting because the table is much too high, and your posture is suffering because of it. Mocha, your first dog, sleeps by your foot, snoring like you would after a long day.

I write these down hoping you would remember the day I wrote this.

I want you to remember that it was at this point in your life you started to believe that you would reach 40.

Are you doing well? How’s your health? Is your back injury still causing you pain?

I’m sure you know how confused I am. How much I don’t know what I’m doing- what I’m going to do.

Were you able to reach your dreams? What new video games are there? What’s the future like? How was your life? Are you married? Do you have children? If you do, what changed your mind? You always said you wouldn’t have children, nor will you marry.

I have so many questions I want you to answer, and yet I’ll never really know the answers until I get there. Will you recognize me?

Do you still go by Eir? Knowing you, you’ve probably had at least two reinventions of yourself in the last twenty years. Are you still you?

I’m listening to Arethra Franklin’s (You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman as I write this. Do you still like the 60s love songs?

Are you happy?

Are you proud of what you’ve achieved? I’m sure you’ve come so far. Even if I don’t always believe in you because our minds tell us we can’t, I hope you learned to tune them out. You are one of the strongest people I know, and even if our battle is with another version of us, I know that you will persevere.

It’s who we are. We are fighters. We will have days we say we can’t, but we will rise up. Just like Maya Angelou said, But still, like air, I’ll rise.

I hope you are happy.

Maybe I do love you more than I think I do,

Eir from twenty years ago.