Letters are wonderful things. I had numerous pen pals when I was a kid and I absolutely reveled in both receiving and writing the letters. I even wrote to an imaginary alien friend called Pev who my teacher in primary school invented and would reply for. They (letters not aliens) are probably why I enjoy blogging so much. It is like an open letter for anyone to read and write back if they feel like it.
Writing letters is very therapeutic I find. All kinds of letters have the ability to work their magic, but I do specifucally mean the paper kind ones here. Paper forces you to commit to the words on the page more so than when you say them digitally (perhaps because there is often the chance to edit later?).
When I was a teenager I was a bit odd, heck I’m still a bit odd now but my teenage years were up there and could easily have featured in either the Twilight Zone or a Judy Bloom novel. I wrote a lot of letters. At school I wrote to my best friend Karen (luckily she wrote back! And apparently she still has those letters, oh dear), at college I wrote to my boyfriend at the time and some other boys. And throughout it all I also wrote to myself.
That’s right, 15 year old me wrote to future me, and let now me tell you they are not pretty! Teenage angst at it’s absolute best. I keep them because I want to have real hard evidence that the world isn’t coming to an end to show my kids when they are teenagers and refusing to get out of bed because the “love of their life” doesn’t even know they exist.
As that is many many years off, here for your viewing pleasure are a few gems from my letters to me.
The vault of old letters I have. Some on great pink paper!
Oh the days of going the video shop to rent a film on VHS. Also I have no idea what is meant by ‘doing the letters’? and I particularly enjoyed the running cometary of our outfits. We were sooo Clueless.
Yes you read that right. My plan after finishing my GCSE’s and before starting college was to volunteer at a soup kitchen, to keep me grounded after I bought myself a Harley and a flat and cool clothes for college with the money I would make working in a charity shop (which by the way I never did)! Karen’s plan was death after failing her GCSE’s. We go on to settle on searching for the Loch Ness monster and hot Scottish guys. Well Karen didn’t fail her GCSE’s but I did get my hot Scottish guy 😊
As well as the obvious boy obsession, the letters reveal a fantastic level of naivety but also such beautiful dreams and passion. I have always wanted to own my own theatre and even though age and experience tells me it is unlikely, I am glad 15 year old me didn’t know that.
I can’t wait till my kids are teenagers! 😂