The Unsent Letters

Tag: mental-health

  • Cherished Memories of a Brother: A Love That Lasts

    Dear Brother,

    I am the age you were when you died.
    A shiver ran down my spine as I wrote that. Death and 22 just sound brutal together. I suppose you would agree.
    I was 3 that day.
    People are surprised when I tell them about you. They don’t believe me when I say I remember you. But I do. At least you should believe it. I remember how you soothed me when I cried, the games we played together, and the toys you brought me. I recall how safe and loved you made me feel. It was such a pure love that, to this day, I search for it everywhere. I look for the love you gave me unconditionally in places that won’t even accept me. I am an older sister. I know how you loved me as an older brother. My older brother. How I yearn for your kind love. How did it disappear so swiftly from the physical world?
    I remember reading a book that contained a story about the main character’s sister. She described this sister as someone so peculiar, so naive, so pure. She was so different from the rest; she was so much herself. Then, suddenly, she died in a car accident at a very young age. Just like you. The main character made sense of the situation by saying, “Some people are too impossible for this world.”
    You were one of those people. Your kind heart left its mark on a 3-year-old who still cries for you to this day.
    You were not a good fit for this world. It pains me to say that. To think that.
    I contemplate the things left undone. I think about your girlfriend you left behind. Could she be married now? Does she still miss you? I think about your friends. I watched the videos they made for you.
    People loved you. I loved you.
    When you died, they told me you were building a playground for me in heaven, and when the time comes, we would meet again. It still brings tears to my cheeks. For a very long time, I believed that, can you imagine?
    But, you know, if there is a heaven, I hope you are building the biggest playground for us, for the sake of the times we could not spend together. I hope I meet you there.
    Today, I am the age you were when you died, brother.
    Your absence hurts.

    And I love you,

    Your beloved.

  • The Search for Belonging: A Personal Journey

    The Search for Belonging: A Personal Journey

    Dear Mr.,
    All my life, I’ve felt out of place. I could never feel like I belonged. To somewhere, anywhere; to someone, anyone. No one.
    There must be something wrong with me. How could they be so natural with each other, and I just feel odd? How could every occasion containing other people be such a discomfort to me and such relief for others?
    Over time, I learned how to tone myself down. It helped me make friends. It helped me get somewhere. On the surface, at least. I left home, moved away to a different continent, in desperate need of satisfying the desire to belong. Then I figured it was no use. A harsh reality to face. The feeling was supposed to come from me, from inside. It wasn’t the city, the country, it wasn’t the lover; it was me. And how sad it is that I have to carry myself around everywhere I run off to.
    I lost myself in the process of conforming to society. I needed the acceptance of others to feel fulfilled. Or at least I thought.
    The year I met you, I was feeling empty, lost, and lonely. When we talked that day, it wasn’t merely a conversation for me. You somehow saw me. You saw me despite the guard I held up high and strong. You could see through me. I fought to be understood for so long throughout my life until that moment. I sacrificed so much of myself to be heard. Yet, you understood my heart with such ease that it felt surreal. It was surreal.
    How could two people meet on such a common ground that both of them are emotionally and intellectually aligned without even trying to appeal to each other? It was so natural, it felt so right.
    That is why it gave me such sorrow to know we could never be friends. I, a non-believer, prayed to God that day for a soul like you that would understand my burden, although I knew it was no use.
    Maybe in another time, at a different place, we share similar titles, we are the same age, and we’re good friends. Maybe in another lifetime, we can fulfil what our souls are obliged to. I hope to meet you in that lifetime. I hope to find myself a home there.