March, 21 - Bedtime stories

What was your favorite book as a child? Did it influence the person you are now?

When I was young, I used to read a lot. And when I say "a lot", I really mean it. Sometimes I could pick up any book lying anywhere and just browse, look it through, smelling the yellow pages, and that was the time I discovered all books smell differently.

Not all of my discoveries were made at the proper time. For some reason, I liked a book about children, I mean, how to take care of and how to bring up a child. When I was about six or seven, I already knew what to do if you have two kids who are jealous of each other, and stuff like that.

But let's rewind a couple of years back.

When I think of a book that used to be the most precious to me, I remember "The Wizard of Oz". Actually, that's not exactly true. What I and other kids read, was more like "The Wizard of the Emerald City". Still, the plot was ridiculously alike. The main character Dorothy was Ellie, and all the other characters were pretty much the same.

I liked the book. I simply adored it. I draw pictures, played games with myself (I was Ellie, of course), and what is more, once my parents bought some kind of a radio version of the story (by the modern standards it could be called an audiobook). I knew all the songs by heart and I was never shy to sing them at any time.

Somehow I wonder if a small part of Ellie still lives in me.

After all, I once used to be a girl who didn't have any friends, let alone having a dog.

Nobody knows when exactly this little girl stepped on her yellow brick road full of dangers as well as adventures, and it is clear there's no one of these things without the other. She found her friends, one after another, and she was much happier than Ellie, because she now had more. Sometimes friends come and go, but she knows that even letting a friend be there where he needs it doesn't mean letting him go forever.

She still fights some evil witches, and sometimes things do not get smoothly, because not all of them are people. The main evil lives inside us, and it is the most difficult thing to overcome.

When I come to think of it, I know my yellow brick road is far from over, and strangely it's something that makes me glad.

And something else - I'm happy to know I have the best company in the world to make it through and the best place in the world I can always come back to. 

March, 1st - Back to the future

A service has been invented through which you can send messages to people in the future. To whom would you send something, and what would you write?

A.S. I've always been interested in the topic of a person meeting a version of his older or younger self.

And no, I wouldn't want to make something great or prevent something from happening on a global level. Everything in its time.

***

I closed the door and started descending down the ladder.
Feeling the heavy bag on my shoulder (somehow I felt I'd be sitting alone at school today, because my mate often fell ill, and now it was spring which only increased her chances), I reached the ground floor and, as usual, slipped my hand through the hole in the letterbox.

My fingers suddenly touched something, obviously, some kind of paper.

Might be some bills, I thought to myself.

Taking out and then staring at the blank envelope, I at once forgot about the fact I was actually almost late for the first class.

There was no address. Neither the sender, nor the receiver. In fact, there were even no lines where people usually write the name of the street or the city.

"Maybe it's a love letter", I couldn't help thinking. I wasn't really one of the popular girls at school, but, on the other hand, had a great deal of fantasy. And the fact that St.Valentine's had already passed didn't disturb me in the slightest.

It was actually an occasional look at the watch that suddenly disturbed me and returned back to reality. Without thinking, I put the mysterious envelope into the bag and hurried to school.

***

This day didn't bring me anything special, and I was still deep in my thoughts on the way home when I suddenly remembered about the strange letter.

The way home lay through a park, not exactly straight, but in a very convenient manner. Paying no attention to quite a chilly wind and the fact I wasn't wearing my hat, not even a cape, I sat on the edge of the bench and put out the thing.

The letter, or whatever there was, clearly wasn't long - the envelope was quite thin. But there was something that I didn't notice in the morning - it was opened. Not in the way that someone had already torn the rim, but it looked like the person who wrote the letter simply forgot to water a slightly sweet edge and close the envelope. Or maybe he or she just wasn't sure until the end that the paper was complete.

In the end, who said it was for me?

Somehow I knew it for sure. I took a deep breath, exhaled a string of steam and took out a carefully folded piece of paper.

Hi there, 

I'm still really not sure if I should do it, but the task demands, and I really want to complete it. 

You don't know me. Well, this might not be true, in fact, we know each other maybe even better than anyone else does. Let's put it this way, we'll surely meet in ten years or so. And when we meet, you won't even remember it was me who sent this letter. Cool, right? 

And if you haven't given up reading this, and somehow I'm sure you haven't, I have some things to tell you. 

I know you're at school now, and you're actually not bad, even rather good. I wish you didn't give a shit about Biology, it won't change anything. But rather pay more attention to Maths, it will do you a great job very soon, believe me. 

I also know you're much into writing. Great job, man! It's something that really gives you pleasure, right? Listen now very carefully - don't give it up. Under no curcumstances. Anyway, even if you do, don't think it will let you go so easily. It is something you can really do, and there are very few things any person can do well. 

A funny fact - they say, when a person writes something, there's usually someone in his work who he secretly wants to be like. It's the same with you, admit it. You want to be like the girl you're writing about - strong, self-confident and smart. With a good sense of humour, of course. And you know, you will someday. Maybe not tomorrow or next year, but you will be even better. Everything will be allright. They will hear you and see how cool you were all the way. I believe in you and I know you will show what you're made of one day. 

And, of course, a piece of advice - take care of your hair. It's a nice thing you gave up on ponytails, but set it straight, for God's sake. And don't use that eyeliner if you don't want to look like a creepy panda. But I bet you'll ignore it. Who would listen to a letter from a stranger? 

I have a lot more to tell you, but I'm not sure you'd love to know that NOW. Let's leave some things secret, shall we? You'll know what to do anyway. 

Take care, 
Me