but i wholeheartedly believe that little kid living inside my heart deserves to get her peace now that i'm here to protect her.
it wasn't her fault that food was her only comfort.
it wasn't her fault that staying inside and read was the only thing that didn't make her anxious.
it wasn't her fault that she let the seeds of self-hatred grow when she didn't have anyone to tell her otherwise.
it was never her fault—she was just trying to make do with anything she had at the time, and even though it still left me with a scar, she deserves to be forgiven after staying strong for so long.
c,
it was never his fault—can you try forgiving your little kid as well?
it's been rough, hasn't it? choosing an unknown path from a really young age, not knowing if you'll actually find a light at the end of the seemingly neverending tunnel. there was never a guarantee—it was all you and the frail line called faith that pulled you forward through the darkest nights. it was only you.
but c, do you want to know a little secret?
come close—i'll tell you,
i actually lost my youth too.
at the time i didn't realize it had slipped right through my fingers—i was too busy trying to make do with whatever i had that i didn't realize i was growing up way too soon, and when i actually figured out something was wrong,
it was all too late.
was it easy to accept the fact that i'll never get my youth back? no—i was trapped for years in a massive cycle of grief and anger, wondering what could've been had i spent my youth as a happy, normal child. i spent years masking my sorrow, trying to continue playing the role i was handed while trying not to snap and break down in the middle of the play. i was there, quiet—simply existing as an extra in other's life story.
if you think that i'm completely healed by now since i can casually talk about those darker years of my life, then i'm sorry to break a not-so-good news for you—i'm actually still walking in the limbo.
the wound might not sting anymore, but it doesn't mean that there wasn't occasions where it would suddenly rip open and restart the cycle all over again. i still constantly feel like the odd one out, despite mastering the art of fitting in. my heart still aches for things i no longer remember, which only made it worse since i no longer have recollection of what hurts me in the first place.
my youth is and will forever remain as a source of heartbreak and trauma for me—but do you know what kept me sane through the nights where it seemed like all hope was lost?
it was the tears.
(well, to be fair you're one of the reason as well—but that's not why i wrote this specific letter. anyway.)
you know, i hated to admit that i cry. sure, i can say i cried when i watch movies or when i listen to some sad songs because that's simply an outside trigger, but to admit that i'm going through a hard time...
no one could ever know.
maybe it was the burden of being the eldest, maybe it's the outcome from all the trauma, maybe i just hated the kind of suffocating attention i might receive should anyone know the truth; all i know was i could never let anyone know i was on the brink of it all.
so i cried.
i cried like it was the last time i would ever cry. i put down every last defense i got, i let go of everything that i couldn't carry anymore, and i just... cry.
it's genuinely kind of ridiculous how the next day i could continue doing whatever i was supposed to do, still alive and well, with only my pair of mildly swollen eyes as a reminder of what storm i had gone through just the night before.
so, you know,
maybe to cry is only for those strong enough to process whatever hardships they've had to endure,
look, i know you have that burden on your shoulders to always be the strong one for the kids. i remembered. i fully understood why you felt that way, but you said it yourself, didn't you? that now the kids are doing well on their own and that you didn't have to worry so much anymore? that you could gradually focus more about what you want and need instead?
c, you're just as precious as the kids are to you. you're just as deserving of love, and you deserve to feel entitled of love—not as a result of anything you have done or how far you have gotten in life, but simply because you exist. you deserve to want and feel and express everything you're feeling because you're here;
it's been a while since i last wrote you a proper letter, hasn't it? i'm sorry they ended so abruptly; my feelings were getting too much for me to handle, and unfortunately, i thought that by stopping all the madness that was my letters would eventually lessen whatever feelings i have rumbling in the hollow of my chest for you.
as it turns out, however,
that did not work.
i still am insanely in love with you in any logical and illogical ways, and i probably adore you even more now than ever. funny, right? after all, the letters were probably how i could contain my love in the first place—and i stupidly got rid of that.
for what it's worth, though, whatever feelings i went through during the absence of my letters was a good teacher. it taught me a lot about myself, and it helped me realize that maybe while i was writing those letters with you in mind, i probably was also writing for the parts of myself i see whenever i look at you—the parts i tried so hard to hide and forget due to shame and fear,
but also the same parts i couldn't help but love when it comes to you.
