Echoes of my past

Today was the day I finally opened the letter I had written to myself ten years ago. I was visiting my parents spending a few days there. It was nostalgic, with a similar warmth filling the air. I was in my room looking at my old hung posters of my favorite shows, their colors had slightly faded almost peeling off the wall. Looking for a tape to stick it back, my eyes caught sight of some objects stuffed in my study table’s drawer. My childhood’s treasured possessions laid there; crown corks, a walkie talkie, shells, doodles on scraps of papers and painted CD’s, at the bottom I found a paper with a window sketch “The attic?” I whispered to myself. A place where I used to lay on the window seat while reading.

Holding the sketch, I saw a shadow in the corner of my eye—a silhouette of a cat, it run out of my room, a thrill flooded my whole body and I rushed following it inquisitively. As it made a sharp turn around the corner I caught up to it but it wasn’t there. It had vanished. I looked around, my eyes landed on the loft hatch above me. I picked a broom handle that was leaning close then used it to pull down the hinge opening it. The panel swung open and the ladder unfolded from the ceiling with a creak, each section smoothly spread until it locked into place, forming a sturdy path down to the floor. I stood at the entrance of the attic. A place I haven’t visited in years.

   I curiously stepped the ladder, each wooden step creaking beneath my feet as I reached the attic. The faint smells of dust and old cardboards wafted down my nose. It was a dusty and an untouched room. Some packed items and stuffed cardboards scattered all over the floor. I walked deep into this forgotten territory when my dad’s old painting caught my eye, It was the portrait of a woman in her early 20’s with a dark background, it appears to be my mother, I marveled at the details gently tracing my fingers along the streaks of a long hair that flow down. As I took a step back to look at the picture I stepped on something and the squeak startled me. I lifted my legs to see what it was; my late cat--Luna’s favorite toy. 

 Our shared memories flickered in my head as I lifted it up and traced my finger on the faded doodles. The priceless memories of us, how she was my comfort, place her paw on my hand and how she sat Infront of me and curiously study me as I do my things came to me. She wasn’t just a pet. She was much more, precious to me. She had sadly passed away five years ago from a kidney failure caused by old age . But just as I was lost in thoughts the toy slipped from my grasp, falling to the floor with a soft thud and rolling under my dad’s work table. I kneeled down, brushing aside dust and reached for the toy, I felt something hard against my knuckles. I tried to figure out what it was then I quickly pulled my phone from my pocket and turned on the flashlight pointing it at the direction where the toy fell. That’s when I noticed—a shoebox tucked against the wall, its lid decorated in paintings and dried leaves. It was a collage of memories, carefully placed in a clumsy yet heartfelt way. 

Curiosity warmed my chest as I pulled the box closer, feeling as if I was on the verge of uncovering a long-lost secret from my younger self. I dusted the lid, “Now this is a treasure”, I grinned with satisfaction as I sat on the dusty floor not minding the dirt. With a deep breath, I lifted the lid, and there it was, parts of myself I had left me a decade ago. A precious chest of memories. One by one I picked each items from inside the box placing them gently beside me: my journals, worn and filled with stories and hopes of my younger self; sketchbooks with faded pages and ink smudges; a crystal necklace I used to adore; and even a few dried leaves, still carrying the delicate patterns that had once fascinated me.

  As I lifted one of the notebooks, a sealed letter slipped from between the pages, fluttering softly onto the floor. I reached down to pick it up, noticing a familiar scrawl on the back, “Open me in ten years” it read. My heart skipped, a mix of excitement and wonder building as I realized I was holding a message from the past—a letter from the girl I used to be, waiting patiently all these years to be opened. As I held the letter, my thumb shifted, revealing a line of numbers written in small, faint ink at the bottom right corner. 2/13/2010—2020. My breath caught; it was the day my dad gifted me a feather ink pen. This letter was meant to be opened exactly ten years from that day and I’m 26 now 4 months and about 2 weeks late.

A wave of nostalgia mixed with a sense of guilt washed over me, as though I’d kept the younger version of myself waiting. Taking a steadying breath, I broke the seal, feeling the weight of the years between us. I slowly pulled a carefully folded piece of paper, my hands trembling with anticipation and reverence. As the paper unfolded in my hands, the familiar yet strange handwriting met my eyes, bringing the words of my younger self back to life. “Are you alive?” were the first words on the page, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. Her humor felt so similar even after all those years. How I wished she could hear my answers, to know how much life has happened since she’d written these words.

 “If you are, I just wanna tell you that I feel like I’m misunderstood. I have so much to say but I don’t want to make others worry about anything concerning me. So what I mostly do is express myself to my silent audiences— in my writings, random songs and drawings. I hope things have changed for you.” No wonder my past self had written all these journals. I wish I could go back in time and reassure her how everything would be alright. “I hope you’re doing well. I don’t really know how to start, but… do we still have the same dreams? Are you happy? Did you make it?”  Her questions tumbled out in her familiar, hopeful scrawl, each one more earnest than the last. 

 “First of all, I hope you still like drawing. Please tell me you didn’t quit. I’m practicing everyday because I wanna be an Artist and travel around the world when I grow up.” I paused, glancing at my bag where my sketchbook that I had scribbled on just an hour ago sat. The one I carried everywhere. I guess old things never change. Because I still have the same dreams and I’m working towards it. A sense of relief washed upon me. “Have you gotten more confident? Made new friends or travelled? I hope you’ve achieved at least one of our dreams. But don’t worry I don’t want to pressure you with any expectations. I’ll start the path that gets us there and I hope you continue walking towards it.” A soft pang pulled at me as I read her words, while nodding sincerely, glad that I have achieved all of these, though I wont lie it wasn’t an easy path.. I sensed her quiet insecurities and fragile hopes, all laid bare. “I hope you didn’t forget our rules though. To never fall in love. For it is better to live a loveless life than to keep going with a broken heart. But I have to admit, I wish to fall in love,” she’d confessed, “but I’m terrified… too scared to even allow myself to begin to feel it. I love even real? Is love dead?” Tears burned at the back of my eyes. No, I wanted to tell her, it’s not. It might sound like a fairytale, but love does exist, just like…No, even better than the movies and books. The right person will step into your life and you just have to trust your gut and let them in. Give it a chance. 

“Do you still feel anxious about stepping outside? Have you figured out life?” There are times That I rarely do feel anxious, but I’m getting better at calming it down. I had realized that it was every bodies first time discovering life. And you don’t really figure it all out but you just need to trust the currents that you sail to in life. “Even if you have figured it out or not never stop believing in the universe. Life is magic!” A small smile crept into my face. Magic. I had been so certain of it back then, and so do I still believe in it now, I’m so sure that it is hidden in the everyday moments, waiting for someone to notice it. I guess we’re still on the same page because no matter how life seems to get too busy, and too complicated. I’m still holding on to the beliefs my innocent childhood me had engraved in my heart. 

I took a shaky breath as I read the final paragraph: “I want to say so much more. But I don’t want to make it long. Just know that I love you and wish you the best,” Her words tugged at my heart. “And lastly, if you ever feel lost or lonely, just remember that I’m still here. I’m you ,, and I’m always rooting for you. I know it will be okay no matter what happens. Don’t ever forget that I always believe in you. Sincerely. you from the past” After I finished reading the letter, my eyes drifted to the bottom of the letter. What seems to be a paw print stomped on a charcoal? In there nestled next to a small heart shape sticker, was a tiny, delicate sketch of Luna. The familiar curve of the ears, the little nose, the gentle arch of her tail - it was unmistakable. A realization washed over me, leaving me breathless. The being I’d noticed from the corner of my eyes the fleeing shadow I had chased leading me here and the feeling that had drawn me to this note…It had all been Luna. My Luna. 

Tears welled in my eyes, a bittersweet ache feeling in my chest. I closed the note gently, pulling it close to my heart, letting the warmth of my memories hold me in that quiet moment. As I held the letter to my chest, heart swelling with a mixture of love and longing as I lingered in that quiet, magical moment-a bridge between my past self and the spirit of my beloved Luna. I could almost feel the warmth of my cat curled up beside me,, the soft purr that once filled silent rooms with comfort.

Then, the faint voice called me from downstairs: “Dinner’s ready!” My mother’s call was soft and but insistent, gently pulling me back to the present. The spell of the moment loosened, the enchantment gradually fading like a dream in the morning light I lingered for a moment longer, savoring the quiet magic that Luna’s spirit had left behind, before dusting Luna’s favorite toy, and folding my past self’s letter gently sliding them in my bag before heading down, a gentle smile softening my tear-streaked face.