No ordinary flower

Dear Older Me,

I don’t think I’ve ever told you about the flower.

I’m not usually one to admire flowers, really. Bouquets are beautiful, sure. But it’s the combination that makes them beautiful. I’ve never looked at an arrangement and taken notice of an individual flower over the rest. Some bouquets have big, prominent flowers planted in the centre, flaunting their grandiose petals. But they’re all show. They’re just bigger and prettier than the rest. They still need the cast of colour behind them to fill in their gaps.

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Since when am I such a thrill seeker?

Dear Older Me,

It’s in the days of this summer that I find myself longing for something. I’m 18. I’m at that ripe age where I’m responsible, yet lack responsibilities. There are so many things awaiting me out in the world. I can drive. I can walk. I can feed myself. The world is my oyster!

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Why you need to know who you are

Dear Older Me,

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

It’s a question we’re all asked, repeatedly, in the wee days of our lives. What do we aspire to be? In this context, this usually refers to an occupation–a job, a title, a role, or niche we fulfill so we can contribute to society and earn dollars.

A very big decision this is, choosing what role we are going to play in our lives. A very big decision to be imposing on the immature, underdeveloped brains of our youth. It comes at no surprise that our young list of occupations is limited indeed, and does not extend much farther beyond fireman, policeman, doctor, teacher, or the illustrious astronaut.

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A slightly inebriated and stunted reflection

Dear Older Me,

HI! It’s you, or at least the drunk you. I had a pretty good time tonight. How many times can you say you’ve gone to a party where the object is to get other people, namely our upper years, drunk? I mean I got pretty drunk myself, but every single one of our targets were throwing up before 10. I’d call that a success.

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I’m Eighteen, what does this mean?

Dear Older Me,

Sorry it’s been so long since I last wrote. I decided to relax for a bit and celebrate my birthday, soak in the fact that I’m now 18 years and 5 days old.

Yes, I’m now 18,  I’m now an adult. According to the Canadian government, I am the ripe age where I can buy lottery tickets and vote. If the election was held 6 days ago, I wouldn’t have been of the mature or responsible age where I could make decisions that could sway the leadership of my country, in the eyes of the government. But in the blink of an eye, now I am. I’ve had to do a lot of growing up over the last few days, so I hope this is a sound excuse for me not writing you.

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Confessions of an introvert

Dear Older Me,

I wish I had time to go to the lake today. I was there on Sunday, it was gorgeous. It was one of those rare times where the clouds turn pink after the Sun fully sets. I still dont know what causes that. Maybe it’s better if it remains a mystery. As always, there was nobody around. That’s one of the best parts about that spot. It’s just me, the waves, and the pink clouds. I like it that way. I’ve tried bringing people down there before, but it’s never the same. Maybe I just have to find someone who gets it.

But enough about that. I can’t be all soft and sentimental all the time. Maybe if I let it out all here, to you, then I can avoid it in person. There’s really no effective way for a guy to be sentimental. Sure, you hear it everywhere, all girls ever want is to find a nice guy. But its a load of crap, I tell you. Being sentimental never gets you laid, and it hardly ever gets you a girlfriend.

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