You are much older now, and hopefully wiser, although sometimes that’s not the case. You have probably forgotten about me.
I’m 12-year-old you struggling with anxiety, hating virtual learning, in this nightmarish pandemic … I could go on and on. Ring a bell?
Anyway, maybe time machines exist in the time where you are, but they don’t here, so I’m doing the next best thing: I’m writing you a letter that I hope you read every year on New Year’s Day, or New Year’s Eve.
I’ve come from 2020 to remind you not to forget. I am sitting on my bed right now, tears still on my face from a fight with my mom (I love her more than anything or anyone, but we’ve spent too much time together), and aware of the light blue masks hanging on the hooks next to the door in my kitchen. In a way, it still feels like March, when this whole crazy thing started. I’m sick of it.
I am begging you to remember. I didn’t get to spend Thanksgiving with my beloved grandparents, when I’d been waiting so long to act normally with them and pod up. Now, it looks like I won’t be spending Christmas with them normally either. In America (where I live), the Coronavirus numbers are higher than they’ve ever been. I am hoping and am going to pray for a Christmas miracle, but I have my doubts because I hoped for an Easter miracle and that didn’t happen.
I am struggling and would do anything to get out of 2020 and this pandemic, to see my friends and family normally. You are able to do that. You have what I want so badly. So please, I urge you to enjoy your life, your friends, your family, your experiences.
Remember — everything is replaceable and unimportant, but people are the only true thing that matter in this modern-day world.
Love your life, and be filled with joy this year.
You, age 12, Audrey in 2020, the Pandemic Year.