A Letter to My 13-Year-Old Self

Prelude - Have you ever wished you could write a letter to your younger self?

This is one such letter—a message from an older ( present me) to the 13-year-old boy I once was. A boy who overthought everything, believed his small actions could change the fate of the world, and struggled to understand love, loss, and life itself. And maybe, in writing this, the present me is still figuring things out too—still searching for answers, just like he was.

I don’t know if time travel will ever be possible, but if it were, I’d send this letter back—not to change anything, but to leave a trace, a whisper in the past. Maybe it would reach him, maybe not. Or maybe, just maybe, he already knows what it says.

Hello arpit,

It’s me, Arpit, basically you, but with more acne, a few more grey hairs, and hopefully the same level of Questionable life choices, just with some extra knowledge of integration, differentiation, and a handful of physics laws. Don’t be surprised. No, this isn’t some sci-fi time loop where I send messages across the fabric of space-time (though I know you’d love that). But who knows? Let’s just pretend some regretful NASA scientist finally cracked time travel and sent this to you.

Hope you’re doing well. I remember you’re good at studies, and Just so you know those good marks will come, just like they always do. I remember people teasing me about my height, calling me ‘piddi’ (pawn). They’ll do the same to you, but don’t worry—just keep tackling it, it’s going to be fine. After all, 6-feeters are mostly just good for cleaning dirty fans.

I know maths is hard at this point trust me, I remember. But jokes aside, I know you carry a lot in that little head of yours. Oh, by the way, I still listen to the Phir Mohabbat song, and somehow, I still relate to it. But seriously, what on earth happened to you at 13 that made you feel those heartbroken lyrics so deeply? Who were you even thinking about? I have no clue. Actually, over the years, our playlist has expanded Jagjit Singh, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan… Funny how you used to hate Jagjit Singh, yeah, we’ve grown a taste for ghazals and qawwalis. Not that it makes life any easier, but at least we suffer with better background music now.

Anyway, I’m not writing this letter to suggest anything. You’re going to figure things out on your own, just like I did. I’m just here to tell you a few things, things that won’t change your fate but might make you chuckle, or at the very least, sigh in recognition. I don’t want to spoil too much for you. There will be heartbreaks, there will be disappointments. Don’t get too involved, and don’t try to act too mature stay innocent for as long as you can. Take this advice however you want, but just know that if you overthink everything, life will turn into a mess.

I know you think every little action you take somehow determines the fate of the world. if you step on the wrong tile, Boom, the world ends. Well, surprise !! Earth is still here. No thanks to your rituals, just to be clear. So, go easy on yourself. You’re not some tragic superhero in a cosmic clutter. You’re just a kid who overthinks way too much. It’s been 13 years, and I have not learned anything new (in a bad sense). I have still not touched alcohol or cigarettes. but sometimes when I get depressed, I think a lot lately that I should have been drinking. Sometimes, delulu is the temporary solulu, but then if reality hits later on, it will be even harsher. So that thought has saved me. Although, there are going to be darker secrets that you will get to know when you live those moments.

Now, about that whole “trying to fit in” thing, stop it. You’re not meant to be like everyone else, and that’s okay. You like dancing when no one's watching? Keep doing it.

There are some relationships you will try to keep intact, but they won’t be saved. Just make sure you don’t hate anyone, because the worst thing about hate and love is that they are very different, love is like wall paint; you have to keep putting in effort over time to keep it fresh, while hate is like dust on the floor you have to make an effort to clean it up.

Don’t try to hold on to something that doesn’t want to stay. But try holding on for once nothing is truly permanent. Some things are temporary, while some are just a bit more than temporary. And those, we call permanent. There are going to be times when you will be alone, and there will be times when you want to be alone. Respect both aspects of life whether being with yourself or being with others. But it happens people come and go.Even I still try to hold on, and I’m still trying to figure it out. I hope that someday, We will.

Now, about love. Oh, boy. I know you think you’ve figured it out, that one glance exchanged in the school corridor is the start of an epic love story. Spoiler alert: it’s not. Love is more complicated than that. Years from now, you’ll meet someone else, someone wonderful. before you even realize what she means to you. And just when you’re ready to admit it, life will step in and remind you that love doesn’t always fit neatly into your plans. You’ll understand what it means to love and lose not in a dramatic Bollywood way, but in a quiet, bittersweet way. And you’ll survive

Oh, and I bet India will win the World Cup 2011.

For now, I don’t think I’ll be able to send you this letter. Otherwise, I’d probably ask a time traveler to take me back to meet you—if that were possible. But honestly, I wouldn’t want to meet you. I’d just want to watch from a distance, silently observing everything, reliving all the memories that my mind’s flawed algorithm has erased over time to save me from dissociative amnesia.

As of now, I don’t think you’re going to receive this letter. But if, by God’s grace, Science cracks the algorithm to transfer objects across time to just things, not humans then I’ll make sure to send a Neuralyzer along with it. You know, the Men in Black Movie gadget that erases memories with a flash. Because I want you to read this and then forget it. I know forgetting something once read is difficult, but let’s be real the bigger challenge would be transmitting this letter from 2024 to 2011. And if that ever becomes possible, then sending a Neuralyzer should be piece of cake. Because I don’t want to leave any residue of time travel in your mind. Otherwise, I might disrupt the time paradigm and end up in some other reality like in The Butterfly Effect movie. Or worse, you might end up as some boring corporate guy. Spoiler alert … Sorry, you’re going to be one.

Maybe a 52-year-old me would be caught up in the same imaginative, sentimental nonsense, writing a letter to the current me. It’s just a fictional thought, of course. I know I’m never going to receive that letter, just like you won’t receive this one. I think we’re bound by a schema, stuck in a loop where timelines don’t really bend for us. And no matter how hard we try, we can’t escape the matrix neither with the blue pill nor the red one.

Just so, you must be wondering if there’s no possibility of sending this to you, why am I even writing it? And even if, by some miracle, it does reach you, why do I want you to read it and then forget it? You must be thinking this is silly. If I don’t want to leave any trace behind, then what’s the point of writing this whole letter?

Maybe it’s like life absurd and meaningful at the same time.But Mostly absurd. Still, I’m keeping the door open if somehow, against all odds, you get this letter, then fine. But maybe I should just keep it for myself, not transfer it to another timeline. Maybe I should just hold on to it, read it as a reminder of the exact combination of words I knitted together in my 52nd meltdown this year.

Yeah, you must be thinking Wait, do I actually keep track of my meltdowns? No, not really. I don’t count them. I just estimated based on the average heaviness from the last two weeks.

So, I’ll keep this letter for myself for the days when I need it. To soothe the pain, to remind myself to live, to face life, to deal with it good or bad. I've made it through before, and I will again. It’s all going to be okay.