I received four e-mailed letters from my past self.
I can’t really call the past me. ‘stupid’. Had I been given a chance to relive most of my past experiences, then I would have faced them as they are. But yeah, the thought of writing to the future is cheesy alright and the messages, themselves, give me the creeps. So I probably wouldn’t attach them to this entry.
Reading them made me remember Ms. Aspilan, our Chemistry teacher. I’d recall my foolish attempts to show my affection towards her, only to be rejected whenever I crossed that hazy boundary between a student and a teacher. I’d recall the many times she broke my heart over class responsibilities and the similarly frequent times when she sent me on an adrenaline high.
At some point, she got mad at me big time. She yelled at me, and I cried as I felt my world torn into pieces (high school drama enduced by crazy hormones, as you know it); not to mention that she was scary as hell. It was only after two years when I found closure. After four years, I saw her when I picked up my yearbook from the Visitor’s Room. It was a pleasant reunion sealed with a warm hug.
What I’m saying is, I’m already at the Acceptance Stage of the Five Stages of Loss and Grief, (took me long enough, haha).