A letter to myself

Dear myself,

Sometimes things grow a little bit gloomy, and sometimes you get lost in the rigid cold, but you should know, I am here for you. No matter the path you tread or through where it meanders, I will always be there, and stay with you through every ups and downs.

You are a highly sensitive person.

I know how you felt when you asked your mother ‘Why does 1 + 1 equal 2, but not 3 or 4?’, only to be met with an icy refusal to answer. I know how you wanted to find a corner in your house to cry in desolution, only to be comforted by the flickering flame of curiosity from which you have been warmed. I know how the pages of your favourite books have been dampened by tears; how you adore Hazel Lancaster’s and Augustus Water’s resilience and raw humanness, how you revere Paul Kalanithi for his unwavering effort as both a doctor, and a patient, and the way he bore his illness with grace and incredible strength, how you cherish Jean Louise Finch for her awareness of justice and prejudices, and you learnt from her, treating others with respect and courtesy regardless of who they are.

You always aspire to growth and kindness.

On occasions, you wondered whether it’s worth being someone who is not you – less sensitive, less easily bruised – but then you spent nights being a confidant and listened to your friends’ stories, attempting to console your friends, even though you knew that you might be unable to make them feel any better, you still tried, learnt, and were eager to improve.

I hope you could appreciate yourself.

You have no idea how I admire the way you have managed to live in isolation. You have no idea how proud I am of the way you immerse yourself in studying, so as to, in your own way, help Paul Kalanithi in his quest of sharing compassion and human connection in the world. You have no idea how I cherish your paucity in judgement and your inherent desire to see and bring out the best in people, sending out a smile even if you are sad.

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Dear friend,

Your sensitivity is no burden, but rather, a gift.

You used to tell me that you love water-colouring, and you do not want your paintings to be monochromatic, that shades of colours vary: red may not be red, red can also be scarlet, crimson, vermillion or even pink (with a touch of white). Such is life and learning - varied and complex - an exercise in observation and perceptiveness, streams of shades of every colour. So dear Dat, allow yourself your complexity and sensitivity.

I know it all too well you want to help others, that’s why you have been trying very hard at school. Unable to satiate your hunger for knowledge, you sought more challenges by enrolling in scientific courses on virtual platforms. Exploring principles of genetics, epidemiology, and neuroscience has roused your passion for science and helped you understand how science can be used to better the world and help people: the hope and promise instilled in the discovery and development of precision medicine, the stigma surrounding mental illnesses waiting to be removed as physical and biochemical changes in the brain are being studied and revealed.

I believe, with your sensitivity and compassion, entwined with your genuine willingness to learn, you will be able to achieve your goals to study and work at the truest interface of intellect and feelings: Science.

With love,

Dat.

November 28, 2021.

P/s: I would like to thank Mrs. Alix Alicia, and all of my friends, whom have helped me in the process of reading and polishing my essay (since it was originally used for a college admission process).