Letters To Myself (Check in 10 Years)

One of the Three

February/4/2012

Dear Barbara,

Wouldn’t it be hilarious if in this day, ten years from now, the day you were supposed to open this letter from your thirteen-year-old self, you tragically died before you found it? But I mean exactly February 4, 2022 as your death date. Not any day before that because, I guess, that wouldn’t be funny. It’d be, well, tragic and it wouldn’t seem as a part of THE SCHEME OF THINGS. But, if you still haven’t developed lung cancer from smoking (because I seem like the retard who would honestly try it) or from breast cancer (because our sister Tanita was always jealous of my developed boobies and would aim at them if we were in a fight) or any type of medical disease or mental retardation; then, Hi, sweetheart!

                It’s Barb, or I guess, you in the past. And I’m writing this awesome letter because it just seems like the thing to do in a time when you’re bored and you want to make sure that your adult-self remembers some things. And I saw it on the Internet on “Things To Do Before I Die”. By the way, has technology already outdated humanity or something? I’m pretty sure it’s going to happen one day.

                Another thing on “Things To Do Before I Die” is write a book and I’m still working on that. I tried to write on one of those online story sites called wattpad.com. But it was mostly just a popularity contest attached to Facebook (which I still don’t have) and it got pretty tiring. Some people’s stories were getting popular and they didn’t even know how to elaborate or use proper grammar so I went all Story-Nazi inside my brain. Oh, Barbara, remember: if you have already written a book, when you publish it, make it out to Miss Miriam Lindo (our third, fourth, and fifth grade teacher). Remember how proud of us she was? She made a pretty big deal out of my writing, which didn’t make sense because my writing back then lacked emotion and personality. But it was nice that she believed in me. If she read the writing that I give to my seventh grade Civics teacher Mrs. Lopez these days, I think she’d probably blush and feel awkward addressing me. Mrs. Lopez has already promised me she won’t show my file to any person on the school board, especially guidance counselors that would dissect me like a dead frog. But at least I wouldn’t feel ashamed of my crude writing. I’m proud of being a hilarious, sarcastic bastard.

                Do you still wish you were schizophrenic, Barbara? I wish it every once in a while. Just the part of not being alone inside my head, though. If there were two of me, I’d talk forever. I’m just feeling good about my writing skills/personality today, is all. I know self-praise sucks but, come on; I’m not beautiful or skinny or exactly intelligent. So when I have something as awesome as my personality, I just HAVE to flaunt it.

                This brings me to my next point with you, Adult Barbara; love. I remember thinking “If I was a boy, would I date my girl-self?” Because, honestly, people have to make themselves be someone that they would enjoy meeting. It’s not like I can go ahead and say “I want to meet someone super nice” and then go ahead and be a humongo-bitch. Get me?

 I remember when I was in kindergarten with the pregnant dinosaur Miss Murado (or something like that), I liked this kid that I never even talked to, Dante. Cool name, right? Well, that kid wasn’t cool at all. In retrospect, he seemed kind of gay with his gelled up hair and high-pitched voice and dainty mannerisms. And the other kids even teased him about acting like a girl. I guess I’ve been a wannabe “fag hag” since I was a child. But at that point in my innocence, I didn’t even know what a homosexual was or how they acted. So I fell in love with Dante without even talking to him. And then one day, while I was subconsciously staring at him, he picked his nose. It was over before he even knew it had started. When I was in second grade with Ms. Silva, I liked Jesse McCartney; as in, the singer-celebrity. He had been in The Suite Life of Zack and Cody on Disney Channel and I had fallen in love. That was a bit after I had fallen out of love with the “I want candy” singer that was on the Hillary Duff show. Our cousin, Cici, had also liked Jesse McCartney and she wasn’t afraid to tell anyone. As for people I actual knew in second grade, I also sort of liked boys named Christian, Julio and Bjork/Jureck/I don’t know. (I’m pretty sure that wasn’t his name, though.) In third grade, I liked the tallest and quickest runner in my class of mixed grades kids. His name was Lucas and I really didn’t talk to him that much. In fourth grade, I liked my best guy friend, Steven. I pretended that I didn’t though, and that I thought that he was gay. My friend told me he had liked me back when I was already in fifth grade and he was in middle school; it was already too late. I saw Steven again last year and this year in drama club but we’ve both already moved on and to tell you the truth, two years can change everything. In fifth grade, I sorta kinda liked this smart kid, Matthew. We were probably the smartest kids in class but I have no idea why I liked him. Maybe I just wanted to be his friend but society had changed my views so much that I have no idea what my hormones were telling me. Three of my best friends had liked Matthew, too, that year so I just dragged my feelings and kept them to myself. In sixth grade, I liked this boy Alex for about three days. Turns out, THAT was when society was changing up my hormones and in seventh grade (this year) we are really good friends with no weird feelings for each other. This year, I like looking at this eighth grader William a lot. We don’t know each other AT ALL, have no classes together just lunches, and I don’t even know his personality or last name. But he sure is hot. I also keep liking Matthew on and off but I’m just trying to be his friend for now and focus on being the best writer I can be. Unless I start falling in love with all of my fictional characters. That would be a shit-stack.