Dear Future Raju, I'm Excited to Become You
The creative urge to write a letter to your future self
Ten years ago, I wrote my first future-self email. It was February of 2014. By the first week of March, we had to finish two mammoth tasks to get a Masters degree - a dissertation and a documentary film. The finishing line for both seemed too far. My vision blurred with sleep deprivation and the terror of MLA citations. I wrote a letter to my April self, the liberated being on the other side of all these deadlines, alive and thriving, maybe even enjoying a job offer.
“How did you do it?” I asked her. “How do you feel now?”
Writing a letter to my future self gave myself the patience to stay with the tedious process. It was a creative way of keeping calm. I brought it to workshops with children, and wrote letters to my younger self which is another creative and therapeutic urge of its own.
I always want to grab and hug my future self so desperately, but she keeps running ahead, which is a good thing. She sends tiny hints to me. In dreams and synchronicities. These are her replies.
Inspired by ’s wonderful habit to schedule emails to herself, as she shared in the Writing Circle, we wrote letters to our future selves. I am excited to share my letter with you all.
Dear future Raju,
Is this a mother’s letter to her daughter? Because it is me who’s going to give birth to you. Or is it fanmail? For the wiser, smoother, and crazier artist you will be?
Let it both. Let this be an era where mothers write fanmail to their children.
Let me tell you why I am excited to become you. But I’m going to take my sweet time getting there.
Listen, my flower pot, I think you’re finding it easier to sleep and let your body heal your pained parts.
My chocolate cake, I can see you’re allowing your gooeyness to get expressed. You prefer a delightful mess over a decent cleanliness. Soft, flavourful food over raucously tasty stuff. And you show up with your writing in places that you find intimidating.
I know all this because I’m working towards it. And you know how it is, right? When we work towards something it’s never not happened. Especially if we are patient. If we are not in a hurry for perfect results. Honey, the only perfect result is death. Everything else is imperfect. And bursting with life.
I’m very curious to know how your body feels. Mine feels heavy and exhausted. It wants rest and movement and water and cream and soup. I’ll give her what she wants so that when she comes to you, she is light and pliable, more talkative than before, and more demanding. She can be a handful. No darling, I am the ‘full’ in her hands. My buzzing mind is her annoying sibling. Let’s sleep and empty her hands for a while.
Let’s continue to offer flying kisses to anxiety. Not actual kisses. Free, flying ones. “I know you babe, I’m gonna chill in your sweet worried face”, let’s tell her that.
The people who love us are rare beauties. Let’s give them the gift of our low volume worries and high volume hope. Let’s never make gratitude lists but let gratitude enlist your work. Everything you receive, give it away. Don’t hoard anything, wonderful or terrible.
Come here, my little peacock. I’m in awe of you.
Yours,
Raju
Join
and at the Memoir Workshop to experience the transformative power of personal writing.
This, "Let’s never make gratitude lists but let gratitude enlist your work." What a great reminder to your future self.
Raju, what is this writing even!! So so delicious. Keep becoming the future Raju..
My chocolate cake, I can see you’re allowing your gooeyness to get expressed. You prefer a delightful mess over a decent cleanliness. Soft, flavourful food over raucously tasty stuff.