It’s all a blur, really—the memories, that is; some dreams and others reality. Sometimes dreams are stuck, because it's just a tiny glimpse of a different life. Dreams seem to have a magical way of making everything that you truly want to happen occur. Then, when you wake up, you still think it’s real, because you felt everything in that dream and all its emotions. In that moment, you have to deal with the nagging in your brain telling you it’s not real. My memories consist of misguided mistakes that made me whom I am today. I still remember the day I got lost in the mall and hung out in the bookstore, because it was quiet. I also remember the days where my dad and I would sit in the living room and listen to music. My mom would always laugh at me and tell us how lame we were, but it was okay because we knew she was joking. I was glad to have those moments, because everything seemed infinite, a perfect world. At that time I needed perfection because running away from all mistakes is what made me feel safe. I’d run from them with no direction and no conviction, just traveling endlessly with no roads ahead. I needed someone to rely on, someone to tell me that’s life. That pain is just a simple compromise so that we can get what we want.

Now I don’t remember the things like “learning how to ride a bike” and ”my first day at school where your mom cries and never wants to leave your arms,” but I do remember the little things. Like the time I went to the movies with my cousin and the bus never came, so we walked home. I remember how concerned my mom and grandma were; they called the cops to come find us. Okay, maybe that wasn’t little, but you get what I mean.To be honest, this is the first time I’ve properly thought about my “memories” for a long time. Thinking back on it makes me realize who I was and what I deemed important. It’s like rewinding time and going into the yesteryears of the old me. She always loved being in the present and having no change, just striding throughout her days without any cares in the world. She probably never even thought about when you’d be on the verge of adulthood, ready to go to university, thinking about a career and whatnot. It’s a scary prospect, thinking about the future as you never really thought about it beforehand. When you have to, though, it makes you want to shrivel up into a ball and go back to when responsibilities were just something that would "come in time." It’s hard to believe, but you are going to be in a hard place when you're around 16 or 17.

The world isn’t all "SpongeBob" and "Fairly Odd Parents" anymore; it’s hard, it’s sad, and it’s all bitterly true. Santa might not come down the chimney anymore and leave presents under the tree, so there’s no need to leave milk and cookies out, and the tooth fairy is going to other children. It’s not all that bad, though. You’ll get better at music and learning about science. You can take the things you like right now and develop them into something of your own. All those medical shows that you used to watch with Dad even though you had no idea what was going on? Yeah, that’s going to be your newfound interest. Music will become a huge part in your life, too; you’ll learn how to play the violin and meet some really cool people along the way. You’ll listen to it all the time, sometimes as an escape. I know, you’re afraid to admit when you like a song after that bad experience when you were singing to something on TV and Dad laughed at you. Music impacts everything: the way you act, your friends, what you do in your spare time, your inspirations—everything.

If I could write a letter to you, I would tell you to laugh while you’re young, because these are the best memories you’ll ever have. I’d tell you life isn’t that bad right now, it could be worse, and it will get worse, actually—but that's okay. I’d tell you to try not to be such a weirdo in sixth grade. Taking seven Tamagotchis to class is not a normal thing to do, no matter how many other people had them. I’d tell you not to trust everything people say, because, believe me, people lie and people get hurt; but hey, that’s life. If I could write a letter to you, I would tell you the path you’re on will twist and turn and change, and your heart will rearrange and sooner or later you won’t know who you are anymore. Then I’d tell you that’s where the fun starts, finding yourself all over again. I would tell you that everything is okay, and everything will be okay, and you’re not crazy; life really does hurt like hell. I would tell you to remember to thank God everyday for this adventure. But with this letter that I wrote, well, I’d never send it, because I don’t regret a single one of my decisions—at that moment when I made them, they were what I truly wanted.