Dear my seven year old self

Dear my seven year old self,

I am the age you dream of, the age you fantasize being. I am the age of partying, drinking and boys. Yeah, prepare to be disappointed.

We have lived a life of exams, school halls and slushies by the side of bowling alleys. Of blushing cheeks, truth or dare and too many hours spent dressing up virtual dolls. Now we have inconsistant  plans, uncertain dreams and a self esteem like a rollercoaster. But we're okay with this. 

I want you to know that you are the protagonist in your own story. Not your so-called best friend who treats you like a lost puppy. Not your grades that threaten to ruin your life if you take the eye off the ball for just one second. Not that guy with the bright eyes who calls you pretty every once in a while. You. I want you to believe in and look after yourself, and that means not studying so hard for your GCSEs that you end up falling apart amongst a graveyard of ripped up posters. Love your friends like your own family, but as a quote I once read said: 'don't light yourself on fire just to keep others warm'. I promise you that they will glow whilst you are nothing but ash.

Be kind to your parents: they work harder than you realise. Learn more from your brother- his quirks and passion should be something you idolise, not something you secretly detest him for. Watch more movies that you've never heard of and read more books that aren't just romanticised accounts of dramatic teenage girls.

But most of all I want you to make the most of your tender, innocent youth. Make the most of tamogotchi's and heelies and playing outside in the rain. Make the most of spending days by the beach making sandcastles and holding hands with your grandparents. Make the most of the homework that is a sheet of addition and the golden stickers on the bottom of your English books that make you think that you're clever. Don't ever, ever try to be me because I would give anything to be you again.