A Letter Across Time

By Sheryn Sek Suet Ying

Digging through the piles of scattered paper in the box, I encountered a sealed envelope with a smiley face sticker on top, dedicated to me. Confused, I carefully tore it open and read the messy handwriting in crayons that trembled across the page — once, mine — asking the one question I never thought I would see again: “Was it worth growing up?”

My brain froze for a long time. How long had it been since I wrote this letter? The question felt like it had been waiting for years to be answered, hiding inside a box filled with the deepest thoughts I had buried away. As I sat there on the ground, I thought back to the little girl I once was — one filled with sunshine and rainbows who thought everything was fine. The naïve girl who once believed no one was bad, that every person she met was kind and amazing, and that if she dreamt hard enough, she could be anything she wanted. What would she think of me now?

That little version of me, sitting cross-legged on the floor, writing and picturing all the spectacular things in the world — she probably thought I would become someone extraordinary. Maybe she imagined me living in a big mansion with an endless garden to roam around, or being top in class, passing every examination with flying colours. I wonder what she would think of me now: a stressed-out student who feels the pressure of expectations, living days that blur into one another like ink in water.

That naïve little girl believed that one day she would get rid of her fear of public speaking, that she would be a brilliant student like Einstein, that she would finally become who she wanted to be. But how would she feel knowing everything turned out differently? That I was still afraid of public speaking, that I was once a star student who turned average and became burnt out, that I was taking more than I could handle on my plate.

Growing up wasn’t all I imagined it to be. It wasn’t all cupcakes, sunshine, and rainbows. Instead, there were days that broke me down, days that crushed me — but there were also days filled with hope and happiness, even if they rarely came by.

It wasn’t a sudden transformation or a door that led to a better life. Growing up is like a plant. It begins as a seed — us — and grows into a small seedling, then a sapling, representing our younger selves. As the sapling grows, its stem may bend and fold, but with support from a stick, it returns to its upright position. Throughout its growth, it will also begin to lose its leaves.

We, as kids, grow and sometimes spiral into dark paths that call for bad choices. But like the stick that supports the plant, our parents and friends hold us up, helping us find our way back. Like the leaves, our friends may fall away from us — but that doesn’t mean we did something wrong. Maybe it’s because everything is changing, and they are too. Maybe it’s because they need space, or because we lack what they need. But in the end, it’s alright, because we’ll always find new friends who stay and last.

Along the way, I’ve learned things that my younger self could never understand. I’ve learned that sadness does not mean being weak — it means you cared deeply for those who wronged you, even when you didn’t want to. I’ve learned that even if the world feels cold, or seems dark, there will always be warmth waiting for you: in doing what you love most, in hanging out with your friends, in spending time with family. The little things may not seem much, but they are what make us us.

Back in the day, I thought happiness would last forever — that it was never-ending, constant. But now, I’ve learned that happiness is something you chase in moments you never thought would matter. It’s fleeting but precious. The sip of a warm drink on a harsh, cold winter day. The song that calms you during your darkest moments. The friends who stayed when your mental health was deteriorating. The feeling of being seen by those who care. These small moments may seem insignificant, but they are the ones that keep you alive and going.

During the dark days and sleepless nights, I miss my younger self. I miss her fearlessness, her never-ending wonder, her naivety. She didn’t know heartbreak, loneliness, or the hard times she’d have to endure. She didn’t know that the most difficult thing for her would be to survive — and that surviving is the bravest thing one can do.

If I could sit beside her to answer her question, “Was it worth growing up?” — I would tell her yes. Growing up is hard. It’s full of moments that break you apart and force you to rebuild slowly. You lose things you thought you’d never live without — friends, trust, family.

At the end of the day, yes, growing up hurts. People change like tides in the ocean. The world isn’t always fair. But behind all this is strength, and that is the beauty of surviving — it helps you keep loving, keep hoping, and keep trying, even when life seems determined to knock you down.

So, was it worth growing up? Yes, it was. Not because it was easy, or fascinating, but because it helped me become the person I am today. From that shy, introverted little kid who would never participate in anything related to speaking, to someone who joined MUNs — speaking like a diplomat — who got top three in speech competitions, who stepped out of her comfort zone and joined musical theatre.

I became someone who finally realizes how fragile happiness is, and how to cherish it. Someone who can look back at that little girl and tell her, “Life is worth living. Not every day, but most of them. Keep your heart open, and you’ll understand that at the end of a dark tunnel, there will always be light.”

By Sheryn Sek Suet Ying