I'm sorry I didn't warn you that you wouldn't stay in your childhood home for the rest of your life. I'm sorry I didn't prepare you for the changes you would experience by moving, not once, but twice during your high school years. I'm sorry you had to go through the fear of adjustment; the pressure that comes with stepping out of your bubble of familiarity into a space unknown.
I apologise because at this point in time, I find myself desperately wishing for a similar warning from an older "me". As I enter my final few days of school, I sense a fiery discomfort in my stomach slowly rising. Despite corresponding with you over the past few months about uncertainty and the importance of living in the moment, I find myself doing my daily chores and tasks with one eye in the present and one eye attempting to discern concrete images in the foggy future.
As this phase of my life comes to a close, I cannot help but stare in bewilderment. This may sound ludicrous, but my mind was subconsciously convinced that school would last forever. As a part of one's life, the idea of school is given so much importance and heed: you experience heartbreak, friendship, stress, bliss, and every intensity of emotion possible, and this combination is what sets the tone for the rest of your life.
The objective of this final letter is to remind you that this seemingly eternal and intimidating part of your life, although influential, is just the beginning. It is finite, and like most weird and wonderful things, it shall cease and leave you wanting just a little bit more. However, as I try to remind myself during these final days, there are so many more weird and wonderful things in store that will be equally difficult to let go of. And in that uncertainty, it becomes slightly easier to find peace.
For the last time,
You, just a little bit older.