May 29th, 2024
Dear 15-Year-Old Me,
I suppose if you're reading this, then my time machine actually works, so you know, yay us. But, I'm writing this to you not to spoil the future, but rather encourage you to appreciate everything in your life at the moment. Everything.
Now, I can't stress this enough: knowing these milestone moments I'm about to divulge in no way lessens the experience of the journey. In fact, I would much rather have you in a position where you can brace yourself for these inevitable moments in time. And unfortunately, I believe what's to come is, in fact, inevitable.
They say everything happens for a reason and we're not meant to know why, but I do know that if they don't happen, I will cease to exist. Honestly, there are worse things than to be ripped off the dimensional plane, so if you are actually able to disprove the theory that time is immutable (a widely held belief), just know that I won't take offense if you have to remove me from existence. It actually sounds kind of peaceful and I am constantly craving peace.
Anyways, are you ready? I'll do my best not to ramble. I knw many describe us as ridiculously garrulous. That's okay. There are so many people out there who never have anything to say. We're simply bringing balance to the universe.
Okay, so right now, you're right on the cusp of being a freshmen in high school at Lamar Consolidated in Richmond, Texas, even though you will ultimately graduate at the top of your class while wearing a hideous shade of yellow (Remember that lie we once told about being colorblind to yellow? Wow. Good times. I wonder if anyone still believes that?).
Here's my best advice to surviving the ephemeral high school experience: Hold your guitar closely and just know that you can do anything. Absolutely anything. Well, maybe not basketball, but that's okay. Catch it on TV.
You are going to dominate every extra-curricular activity, winning countless awards, you'll be recognized by the state of Texas as an exceptional actor, you will serve as a drum major for two years, you'll be editor-of-chief of your school paper, you'll be a part of Jazz Band and Varsity Choir, you'll be asked to speak at the induction ceremony for The National Honor Society as well as be one of the only Asians to ever play the role of a T-Bird in a production of Grease. And if that wasn't enough, you'll even be Colonel of the Drill Team during The Powder Puff Game (and dude, you even design the logo for the shirts). Seriously, you can do anything. You're freaking Ferris Bueller.
But, you see, all your success isn't going to go to your head. Not only are you, by default, self-deprecating, you have something that so few people actually hold: class.
Unfortunately, your attributes aren't going to ground you. It's going to be Mom; She's going to get sick. And on August 5, 2005, you're going to be at work when you receive some bad news that makes the earth feel like it just cracked. I'm sorry, but it happens. And it doesn't matter that you stay home for the first few years of college or how many times you rewatch Forrest Gump with her. It's never going to be enough. And she is going to die. And we... well, we don't take it well. Of course, nobody knows our pain because we do reflexively what others unbearably struggle with: compartmentalization. Unless our damage is catastrophically excruciating, we never show our true color. To literally everyone, we are the brightest orange, but we both know we are unequivocally the dullest, Eeyore gray.
You know, we could best be defined as the soul of an angel trapped inside the devil? We're kind-hearted, but reckless to a fucking fault (It's okay. We don't have many.). We are certainly creative; however, we are definitely over-critical. And we love with every fiber of our being, but more often than not, it is tragically not reciprocated, and what's more, it's betrayed. I'm telling you right now, dude. Watch out for that one friend you're always on the fence about. He's bad news. You were always right. Listen to your gut.
And what has all of this made us do? Yeah, we have become the world's leading expert on how to swallow your God-damn emotions while being forced to smile. I totally understand the pain of a Beauty Pageant.
Shakespeare once said something about the world being a stage. And there's validity to that. But, kid, just know that you are a world-class talent. If the world is a stage, well then, you're going to light it on fucking fire. Just because you can. And you're going to dazzle everyone you ever meet. Just pick up a microphone and test my theory. You're good, kid. As Mason Briscoe says, "You do good."
Now, despite your noteworthy and natural balance, you are going to stumble and not just fall, but completely collapse. And here's how: Dad's going to die 9 years after Mom, so you will start your 20's with one parent and you'll usher in your 30's with that specific integer reduced to zero. But, you're gonna get the dream job after going to the dream school and you're gonna do crazy dream shit, but then a hurricane hits. A big one. A biblical one. It's name is Harvey. And it's going to decimate countless lives, including yours, so say goodbye to everything you have ever owned. It's all gone, man. Everything. Gone.
Now, what could possibly be worse than this shit-storm montage? Well, let me tell you something gospel: It is 100% worse.
This I can't tell you because if you know, you will take a skydiving trip and jump out of the plane without a parachute. Sorry, kid, but if you know it, then so do I.
And I'll be honest: this event takes the shattered pieces of your soul and pulverizes them into oblivion. And then, on a late August night at the end of the 2010's, you are murdered. But, it's not your body that's murdered; It's your spirit. So, you're still walking around. It's just not you anymore. It's merely a doppelganger.
People are not going to understand this. Nobody will say the right thing. And this goes for a frightening majority of the population. You are now unrelatable. Because having PTSD with manic-depression, well, it's awful. The kind of awful that is so palpable. You see, it's very difficult to explain mental illness to those who are mentally healthy. It's a lot like trying to explain a rainbow to a blind person.
And then, you will be stuck in a time loop for 6 years, gain a sickening amount of weight that makes you look like the Ghost of Future Nat that coincidentally ate him, and at times, you'll start pissing your bed again because you can't fucking help it.
You will have the worst roommate in the world, the kind that brings drug addicts and ex-cons in your home. Then, one day, he's gonna tick off one of them and they will start destroying your home. And do you want to know what is truly crazy? Everyone's going to blame you. So, you'll be branded as a criminal and everyone you have ever known, save for a number less than 10, will all abandon you. Everyone. Gone. Seriously.
Then, anytime something good happens, something terrible follows. Which sucks, but we deal with it. But, despite our best efforts, we end up not just in jail, but solitary confinement. And then, we start experiencing the worst discrimination on the planet. It's horrific.
And a little while later, when we're at critical mass because we haven't eaten in days and we're only sleeping 2 1/2 hours every 72 on the top levels of parking structures, we feel like this is the end.
But, it's not. Why? I still don't know why.
You're going to be able to pull off jaw-dropping, impossible feats because everything you've experienced up until this point, everything, all of it sharpens our skills. And dude, you remember that dream we had right after the Cinema 8 premiere screening of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?
Yeah, dude. I think I can pull it off. I think I'm ready now.
So, whatever you do, just keep pressing on. Trust me, anything life throws at you, you undoubtedly survive. And why is that? Because Nathaniel...
...you are fucking invincible.
Seriously.
