A letter to the 9-year-old me

It's the first day of August, the start of the challenge I set for myself -- to blog every day.  The challenge is actually for me, but it is open to anyone and everyone who is interested. All you have to do is to link up. You can find the linky below.

  

Today's prompt is: Write a letter to the 9-year-old you.

Dear 9-year-old me,

on the day of my first communion

I miss you. I miss not having a care in the world, except taking quizzes and exams, or thinking of ways I can make my mom allow me to stay home on a school day, or how I can remain inconspicuous when I am in class.

I miss being good. I miss being hopeful for things to come, I miss having your blind faith, your innocence, your simplicity, and your rose-tinted glasses.

I miss the simple life you led.  I miss the afternoons you and Candy spent together in our terrace while eating atis or dalandan, or the Saturdays you spent with her playing house, hide-and-seek or some other game the two of you invented.

I miss the way you kissed and hugged Mom and Dad and the way they kissed and hugged you back.

I miss you but no matter how much I wish I could be you again, I can never be.  And though I can never be you again, somehow, you are still in me, and I guess you will always be, just like all my other younger selves will.  I am, after all, made up of several layers of me, just like those painted dolls that have several smaller dolls inside them.

You are, however, one of my favorites.  When I am prim and power, when I am satisfied with simple living, when I just want to please God, when I look at the world and think it's beautiful, I know that's you.  You make me a better person and for all those times you come out, thank you.

I love you, little girl.

30++ old you.


Check out other prompts for this challenge.