'It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds.'

Hello, future me.

...well, this is awkward. I'd be lying if I'd said that I wasn't used to talking to myself, but this is different because, you know, you don't even exist yet. And I guess that doesn't matter anyway, because you'd know if I was lying. You are me, after all. 

Wait. Shouldn't I be referring to myself in the plural? Since I'm talking to you but you are me and that would mean we should be known collectively and now I'm just confusing myself. Maybe with the years of experience with words that you'll have, you'll be able to sort out this technicality. Now, moving on. 

The future turns into the present so quickly. I'd always thought of it as a little box of potential memories that I could keep under my bed for later, like the hidden porn stash of a boy who obviously hasn't heard about the internet. Now I'm as worried to face it as that boy is worried to face his mum after she cleans out his room. It's unstable and I'm not sure I'd be able to deal with it all, but I guess I'll learn along the way, just like that boy learnt new ways to hide his magazines. 

Traumatic childhood analogies aside, I thought I'd help you (myself?) out by giving some advice because if I don't write this down right now I'll forget it in a few hours. Life is a road where every car is a van with 'FREE CANDY' sprayed onto the side in big red letters, and I know it's horribly tempting to take shortcuts, especially through a van which promises sweets of the complimentary kind, but you must remember where you're heading and keep walking in that direction. Besides, those vans are lying.

First piece of advice; don't die. Seems pretty obvious, yes, but you have a tendency to get yourself into stupid situations and I'm actually a little more worried because the only authority that will keep you in check at your age is the police. I know we promised not to grow up but I'm starting to think that maturity isn't all that bad. Plus, being known as a man-child would permanently harm our reputation. If you die, you don't get to retire and get paid for being old. Remember that.

Secondly, don't let go of the ambition I have right now. I don't want to have grown up just to find that all the plans I made were only the whimsical fancies of an unfocused nineteen year old boy with too much imagination. I want to write a book and travel from Singapore to London by train and learn languages and make a difference but you're the one who's going to have to do all that. And there's no way you'll ever be able to apologise to me if you don't because I'm in the past and I don't see anyone using time machines to get here yet.

Lastly, make mistakes. Fail. Get so close to financial ruin trying to fund the production of your inevitably disappointing solo folk electronica album that you feel like giving it all up, and then learn from it. Learn that there is a reason why folk electronica is not a genre that has a lot of fans, or even exists for that matter. Learn that trying new things might not lead to success, but it will always lead to satisfaction. Don't trade yourself in for a lifetime of repetition in an office cubicle for a little money because what if, WHAT IF, folk electronica breaks into the mainstream? It won't, for obvious reasons, but you never know. Don't take that chance.

This has been fun. I like where I'm going in life and it's up to you not to fuck that up. I will see you in the mirror sometime in the next decade or so. 

Hope I see a manly beard growing too.


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