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A HYPOTHETICAL LETTER TO MY CHILDHOOD SELF: If I'

A HYPOTHETICAL LETTER TO MY CHILDHOOD SELF: If I'd ever get a chance to go back 13 years in life, What would I say to 8 years old me? I'd say her to Study more mischief less? No! I'd say her that waiting is always worth it all, have patience with pain. Paint the strongest wings because you're gonna take a long flight to reach the horizon of the space. You're not allowed to give up when those two massive failures hit you up, not even when most of your plans turn chaos. I know you're struggling to spell the word "Sports" in the Principal's room but trust me, My favorite team is Arsenal and I win badminton matches. India is gonna win the WORLD CUP 2011, you'd learn about cricket later. Trust me, You'd love it. Never expect the society to be supportive because you'd need more than a pair of ears to dump their criticism in your heart. Most of your best friends would walk out, but you must be there for them and for yourself, first.You may think that Mom and Dad are being too tough with you, but indeed, they'll be there, whenever I fall and never let me hurt. I still remember how I used to reckon every drop of rain in monsoon. I wonder that what if I weren't cocooned into a box of loneliness, Could I still have become what I am today? I've healed from the wounded past, I no more shed tears on those memories. The moments are meant to be lived only once, and the memories live in us forever. The forced loneliness has taught me how to admire the world beyond my four walls and a pair of eyes. The first time in life I fell in love with the Solitude, when my little heart was broken because of the sunshine denied to peep through the curtains. I realized that curiosity illuminates the darkness. That stubbornness of not giving up was the only option I had. The Phoenix should be burnt from outside to emerge from the ashes. The last drop of my blood-stained on the journal, the history of pain was etched in it. Those insomniac nights, fed up a warrior with a pen. The crushed papers in the trashcan, breaths best-selling stories at the corner of the room. Poetry and Books become my 2 AM best friends. Sometimes I don't know from where I start thinking, but for sure the trail has no end. Like a little kid crawling on a hoax, I'm not alive in my heart. I love a unique spark that escapes when a butterfly when it flutters its colorful wings, maybe somewhere in the darkness of a forbidden forest or in the other corner of the world. Every piece of art that is hidden from the eyes is greater than anything beautiful that we see and adore. We fail to look up at the sky and read its love letters, sealed with blithe. Life is fleeting much faster than the fading smoke of cigarettes filled with everything temporary. I'm afraid how many apologies I carved in my lips, buried under the soul and never counted how many graves become home for the moths of my lies. All those apologies that I owe myself was a beautiful lie uttered by a clown. Paradoxically I shed some heavy tears when I laughed ironically on myths of love. Where there is a vast strayed sky, there'll always be a cluster of clouds holding the errands of art. I was that thin line amid the world of dream and reality wandering like the dandelion without any passport. Believe me, I have never seen a thousand dawns pondering about my frozen heart. It was right there knitting the falling stars with the life and the prisoners of anxiety. Far from the crowd was a quarrel of agony, a little squirrel lost the acorns from its treasure. Who cares?, perhaps a poet who is stealing the melancholia from the roots of an old Oake tree and tracing the rabbit holes beneath the hell.It's okay if you don't top the exams, it's okay if you're interested in the world beyond the syllabus. It's okay if you bunk a few classes because nature is the best teacher. If you are criticized for being creative, it's okay to step ahead of the crowd. It's okay if you're lethally lazy, at least you live not just exist. It's okay to be rude with the haters you're not an angel. It's okay to be kind to the passive society, anyway they're gonna backbite. It's okay to be tranquil when the chaos party around your head. It's okay if you're broken, art cherishes in imperfections. It's okay if you make the same mistakes, the teenage will be like Jenga. You'd have to compramise with the most important thing to get the other. It's okay if you're different, but you're not the same at least. If I were still you, you'll see the world with a different vision. If I were still you, you'll able to forgive my blunders. If I were still you, sometimes the forever may seem like a jiffy. If I were still you, after all, you know all those darkest secrets, yet can you embrace me? On these little funny questions relay most profoundly anticipated answers. If I were still you and you were still me, we'd still be us with so much love. I miss you as a struggling adult. You'd burst in laguhter, if you're here to see me adulting like an astray kid. We both are traveling in the right paths to reach our dreams, just steering the destiny irresistibly. You are just amazing the way you're. Thank you for always being you! With Love, ©Hasnath Mubeena AsrafSoudha #hasnath #MyChildhoodSelf
A HYPOTHETICAL LETTER TO MY CHILDHOOD SELF: If I'd ever get a chance to go back 13 years in life, What would I say to 8 years old me? I'd say her to Study more mischief less? No! I'd say her that waiting is always worth it all, have patience with pain. Paint the strongest wings because you're gonna take a long flight to reach the horizon of the space. You're not allowed to give up when those two massive failures hit you up, not even when most of your plans turn chaos. I know you're struggling to spell the word "Sports" in the Principal's room but trust me, My favorite team is Arsenal and I win badminton matches. India is gonna win the WORLD CUP 2011, you'd learn about cricket later. Trust me, You'd love it. Never expect the society to be supportive because you'd need more than a pair of ears to dump their criticism in your heart. Most of your best friends would walk out, but you must be there for them and for yourself, first.You may think that Mom and Dad are being too tough with you, but indeed, they'll be there, whenever I fall and never let me hurt. I still remember how I used to reckon every drop of rain in monsoon. I wonder that what if I weren't cocooned into a box of loneliness, Could I still have become what I am today? I've healed from the wounded past, I no more shed tears on those memories. The moments are meant to be lived only once, and the memories live in us forever. The forced loneliness has taught me how to admire the world beyond my four walls and a pair of eyes. The first time in life I fell in love with the Solitude, when my little heart was broken because of the sunshine denied to peep through the curtains. I realized that curiosity illuminates the darkness. That stubbornness of not giving up was the only option I had. The Phoenix should be burnt from outside to emerge from the ashes. The last drop of my blood-stained on the journal, the history of pain was etched in it. Those insomniac nights, fed up a warrior with a pen. The crushed papers in the trashcan, breaths best-selling stories at the corner of the room. Poetry and Books become my 2 AM best friends. Sometimes I don't know from where I start thinking, but for sure the trail has no end. Like a little kid crawling on a hoax, I'm not alive in my heart. I love a unique spark that escapes when a butterfly when it flutters its colorful wings, maybe somewhere in the darkness of a forbidden forest or in the other corner of the world. Every piece of art that is hidden from the eyes is greater than anything beautiful that we see and adore. We fail to look up at the sky and read its love letters, sealed with blithe. Life is fleeting much faster than the fading smoke of cigarettes filled with everything temporary. I'm afraid how many apologies I carved in my lips, buried under the soul and never counted how many graves become home for the moths of my lies. All those apologies that I owe myself was a beautiful lie uttered by a clown. Paradoxically I shed some heavy tears when I laughed ironically on myths of love. Where there is a vast strayed sky, there'll always be a cluster of clouds holding the errands of art. I was that thin line amid the world of dream and reality wandering like the dandelion without any passport. Believe me, I have never seen a thousand dawns pondering about my frozen heart. It was right there knitting the falling stars with the life and the prisoners of anxiety. Far from the crowd was a quarrel of agony, a little squirrel lost the acorns from its treasure. Who cares?, perhaps a poet who is stealing the melancholia from the roots of an old Oake tree and tracing the rabbit holes beneath the hell.It's okay if you don't top the exams, it's okay if you're interested in the world beyond the syllabus. It's okay if you bunk a few classes because nature is the best teacher. If you are criticized for being creative, it's okay to step ahead of the crowd. It's okay if you're lethally lazy, at least you live not just exist. It's okay to be rude with the haters you're not an angel. It's okay to be kind to the passive society, anyway they're gonna backbite. It's okay to be tranquil when the chaos party around your head. It's okay if you're broken, art cherishes in imperfections. It's okay if you make the same mistakes, the teenage will be like Jenga. You'd have to compramise with the most important thing to get the other. It's okay if you're different, but you're not the same at least. If I were still you, you'll see the world with a different vision. If I were still you, you'll able to forgive my blunders. If I were still you, sometimes the forever may seem like a jiffy. If I were still you, after all, you know all those darkest secrets, yet can you embrace me? On these little funny questions relay most profoundly anticipated answers. If I were still you and you were still me, we'd still be us with so much love. I miss you as a struggling adult. You'd burst in laguhter, if you're here to see me adulting like an astray kid. We both are traveling in the right paths to reach our dreams, just steering the destiny irresistibly. You are just amazing the way you're. Thank you for always being you! With Love, ©Hasnath Mubeena AsrafSoudha #hasnath #MyChildhoodSelf
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Hasnath Mubeena

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