When My Younger Self Walked Into My Room

“Are you going to say something?!” I said without looking up from my screen.

My younger self, organized, sophisticated with absolutely zero deadlines weighing on her shoulders, was kind enough not to call me a complete mess. She stood on the doorway, with her brows tensed, taking in the room, which had printouts and books scattered around. I guess she was already planning how to never end up like me. Seconds passed with no response from her.

I finally looked up at her with a sigh. She finally looked at me, and somehow I knew exactly what she was thinking.

“Please speak. You’re frightening me now.”

She finally cleared her throat.

“How are you this behind?! She finally asked. “I mean, your exam is in 5 days and you are only starting now!”

I knew it. I remember being strangely proud of always finishing my work on time as a kid.

“It happens, Simu, when you grow up. You would still get only 24 hours a day but more work than you are able to do in that time.”

She nodded slowly.

“You know, I never imagined that I would be where you are today. At least now I know how to get my life together.”

I was almost provoked to defend myself, but then I stopped. It’s not her fault. It’s the phase she is comfortable in. I’m the one struggling to come out of it.

“You like being the organised one,” she said.

I smiled. “I liked that people noticed.”

She frowned.

“Teachers trusted me. My parents praised me. Somewhere along the way, being ‘the good girl’ stopped being something I did and became someone I thought I had to be.”

She looked at the colour-coded timetable pinned above my desk, then at the untouched books scattered across the floor.

“So… what changed?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Life did.”

“Turns out people grow up, deadlines pile up, and even the organised ones drop the ball sometimes.”

Until one day, it stopped feeling like a strength and started feeling like a cage. She looked around my room again.

“So this is what growing up looks like?”

“Sometimes.”

“It’s… messy.”

“Very.”

She was quiet for a while.

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

I looked at the books on the floor.

“It used to.”

She made a question mark face which made me smile.

“I know I’m not at my best phase,” I finally spoke, “and it’s okay. It doesn’t have to inspire you. But if you run smoothly all the time, you would clearly miss out on…life? Yeah. So Miss Perfect, be the same well disciplined girl that you are, but allow yourself to be messy too. Be the friction sometimes.”