Dear Joanna: Writing to my 13 year-old self

Dear Joanna,

Hello, Joanna! This is Joanna, writing back. It's Sunday the 9th of January, 2014, which makes me 20 years old. You are 13, and in your second year of secondary school.

Let's start with what I remember about you. One of your biggest fears was that I would forget what it was like to be 13, and I want to reassure you that I haven't forgotten you - not one bit. After all, you spend a lot of time thinking about what it will be like to be me, and dreaming about all the things you'll do in the future. To be honest, you spend far too much time living in the future. One of the things I've learnt in the last few years is to try and stay focused on the present, and let the future take care of itself.

You're 13, a ball of hormones, opinions, and angst - like most thirteen year olds! Trust me, it gets better. You're one of the tallest kids in your class, and considered quite bright, with the weird result that you're both self-conscious and a total show-off. Sorry, but it has to be said: you do show-off, and whilst it impresses the teachers, it isn't really impressing any of your classmates at the moment... You're learning the flute, although you hate practicing. Your favourite subjects are Religious Education, Drama, English, and History, although you enjoy almost everything, except sport. You want to be a missionary, or a writer, or an explorer. You love the Redwall series by Brian Jacques, the Narnia stories, and audio books. Your favourite colour is purple and your favourite animal is the squirrel. You have blond highlights that make you look like a zebra and a HUGE crush on Orlando Bloom. A really big crush. It's a bit scary how much you know about him. Unfortunately, Orlando does not stay that good looking - you really won't fancy him when you see him in the Hobbit (yes, they make a film of that!). 

I remember being you. I remember looking through the property pages in the newspaper and choosing my dream house. I remember reading The Curious Incident of The Dog In The Night Time under the table in the dining room, because I wasn't old enough to read it yet (Mum and Dad knew you were doing it, but let you get away with it!). I remember secretly weighing myself in the bathroom and furiously scribbling about how much I hated myself in my diary. I remember how much I worried about friendships and boyfriends and gossip. I remember the excitement of getting an allowance for the first time, and saving up to buy myself a digital camera. (You keep that camera for years, until it breaks when you put it in your handbag without the case, age 19. Sorry.) What I'm trying to say is that being you mattered. At times it was tough, but you have a lot to look forward to. 

Over the next few weeks I'm going to write responses to all the worried notes you left in your diary to your future self, hoping desperately that I'd be okay, and trying to imagine that I could respond. One of your worries was that I'd loose the power to imagine things, so these letters will be proof that I didn't, even though I can't make imaginary worlds the way you could. I'm still a daydreamer, and I'm imagining you opening these letters, seven years ago.

Until next time, keep dreaming.
Love,
Almost-Grown-Up Joanna x