Dear Hope

(Stolen with love from Peter, Clink and Molly as imitation is the sincerest form of flattery)

Dear Hope of December, 1998

I come to you from the future. Right now, you’re probably sitting on the bus going to school sharing earphones and a cheese and gherkin sandwich with your Best Friend. You hate high school. Don’t worry, its nearly over and you’re about to experience some of the best years of your life. Seriously. High school is not the alpha and the omega. No. Seriously. I mean it.

I should know, I come to you from the future. You know that place where you think you’re going to be taller, thinner, smarter, funnier, more popular, rich with a high powered job and married to a handsome man who whisks you away to Paris for the weekend.

I’m sorry to disappoint you, Hope, but that’s not the future I’m writing from. In fact, most of those have not come true.

You’re still exactly the same height. But you will learn that its OK. At this height the top of your head fits perfectly under the chin of most men.

You’re not much thinner, but you will learn to wear clothes that flatter your body. You will learn that your beauty is not measured by the number on the scale. Over the next few years, your body will take you to places you never thought you could go, allow you to feel extraordinary emotions of love and it will carry you onto a stage while your mother stands proudly beneath clapping for you. Don’t snap at her on that day, you little brat. You are where you are because of her.

You’re not much smarter because you still spell a lot like alot. You still need to use a calculator for the simplest arithmetic. But you’ve been moved to tears by the poetry of Keats. You’ve laughed at the genius of Douglas Adams and you’ve found weaknesses in the theories of prominent psychologists. You’ve carried out two original studies. You’ve helped open a new business and you’ve burped your 3 month old nephew. That’s the one that will give you the greatest sense of accomplishment.

Over the next couple of years you are going to develop a lovely, self-deprecating, sarcastic sense of humour. You’re going to start laughing at all the mistakes you make. You’re going to learn that laughing is so much better than crying. But promise me one thing? Never stop crying no matter what other people say to you. Crying is good. Plus, your eyes go olive green when you cry. You will be able to use this to your advantage when fighting with your first boyfriend.

You’re not popular. But before you start feeling sorry for yourself let me tell you a secret. Come closer. You get over 100 hits a day on your blog. Your blog. It’s like an online journal. You write about your life. I know, I’m as surprised as you are. But beyond that, in two years, you will go through a phase where you are going to be popular. You are going to walk into a bar and everyone will know your name. There will be these three guys that will want you desperately. Do not kiss the first one. He kisses like a lizard. Do not kiss the second one. He has a girlfriend. He’s not going to break up with her. Do not kiss the third one. You’re just kissing him to make yourself feel better. Who am I kidding? Kiss them all. You’ll be dining out on those stories for years.

You’re not rich. But, you have everything you need. Please think of me the next time you’re in H&M. You do not need another coat or another bag or another top. We’re going to need that money to invest in our future. Our even farther future than I am in now. I’m not joking. Stop buying bags.

You’re not married yet either. Not even close to it. You and marriage are not even living in the same hemisphere. (You will get the irony of that statement in good time). Things to look out for: Try and avoid men that enjoy travelling. It will save us both from a lot of trouble. I have had to spend a shit load of money on therapy–money that you could use to buy those bags you love–so please. Stay away from Australian men.

As for the high powered job? Seriously? Stop and think for a minute. Is that really you? Is that what you really want? Of course not. You want to be a writer. Go for it. That’s your passion. Follow it. Please. Don’t be scared.

I never, ever tell you this. But, I love you. I really do. You’re sensitive, kind and strong. Try hold onto those qualities. No matter what life is about to throw your way.

xx Hope

P.S Sulking and looking forlorn is not going to make any boys talk to you at a party. Please smile, I promise you, it’s just as cool.