Dear Little Me,
I remember you.
You were the quiet one in the corner, hugging your backpack a little too tight, speaking only when necessary. The other kids laughed, played, shouted—like it was easy. But for you, nothing ever felt easy. You watched them from the sidelines, not because you didn’t want to be part of their world, but because you didn’t know how.
Every day, you felt like an outsider in your own classroom. Every awkward silence, every mocking word, etched itself into your little heart. And it didn’t stop at school. At home, when the adults looked at you with confusion—or worse, disappointment—it told you the same thing: you’re different. Not special. Just… wrong.
But you weren’t.
You were curious. Thoughtful. Deep. You asked questions not because you wanted attention, but because you genuinely wanted to understand the world. You tore apart your toys not to break them, but to know how they worked. And when they didn’t fit back together, you cried—not because you failed, but because you cared.
I know you used to dream of a different world. A world where kids like Dexter from the cartoons could be themselves—awkward, brilliant, weird—and still be accepted, even loved. You believed that world existed somewhere far away. Maybe in America. Maybe in England. A world where being different wasn’t dangerous.
Today, I’m writing to tell you something I wish you had heard earlier:
You made it.
You crossed oceans—literal and emotional—and built a life where you're no longer just tolerated. You're valued. You’ve built your career, your integrity, and your quiet strength on the very things you were once mocked for.
And now, you're about to become a citizen of that world you used to dream about through a screen. A citizen not just by law, but by spirit. This isn’t just paperwork. This is a message to the child who felt invisible: You belong.
You always did.
And if I could sit beside you in that empty corner of the nursery, I wouldn’t fix you. I’d just put an arm around your shoulder and say:
“I see you. One day, they will too.”
With love and pride,
Me (You, at 35)