To Akela

Hello again

It was 6 years ago when I met you, and 5 years ago when I wanted to write to you last. Time flies. Life flies.

When we said goodbye, you told me: "Never lose your passion for the world." It's been hard, I won't lie, trying to keep myself up. It's been harder trying not to die, until very recently.

I'm medicated now. I've been through years of therapy for the trauma. Finally, I have some consistency. The depressive claws of mental illness aren't always digging into my flesh. In the last few months, when I wake up I don't want to die. It's incredible to feel like that-- that the world isnt crumbling around you and there's a future worth existing for. I'm doing so much. I'm reading again-- isn't that lovely? And I'm working on a community project and am due to start a second one soon. It's not changing the world, but it's a little bit of something that might cause a ripple effect. I'm poor now, but in a few years I'll be able to save up to maybe travel somewhere. I'm learning new things and I make a point to try new things every week. I want to do so much more; I'm going to do so much more with my life. I hope that if you hear of my projects in the future, you'd say something like "how nice!"

When I was 14 you inspired me beyond what I think you understand. I call them Lollipop moments: when an action is so utterly influential to a receiving party, but is so insignificant to the person who performed it. You showed me there is a future for dreamers. More importantly, you gave me a keepsake of tangible proof of that. "Never lose you passion for the world" came to mean so much more to me. It was a message of hope in times of great pessimism. It was a reminder that someone believed in me at one time, therefore I ought to press forward. It meant that in the darkest times, I still can love the world.

I don't think that I can ever fully thank you for this. Such a simple action, I marvel, has impacted my life in the best of ways. Thank you for telling me even once that I was a person of value. Thank you. I'd like to think that one day, once I've done what I want to, and if you were to learn about it, that I'd make you proud.