Talking to my younger self would be like a dream come true. Sometimes, I truly wish I could sit face to face with that little version of me and offer some honest advice, as if life were a classroom and I had to teach him what it really means to live on earth. Life has been moving so fast, almost like a time bomb ticking toward an explosion whose impact only the future knows.
When I look at myself today, I often ask questions that sound simple but cut deep: Have I done well? Who am I really? Am I satisfied with this adulthood that once looked so beautiful and full of promise? I used to dream of a life that felt so natural and peaceful, one I thought nature would allow to unfold gently. But things have not always turned out that way.
Sitting back with my younger self would give me the chance to straighten out issues that shaped me into who I am today. It would be one of the greatest moments I could ever hope for, because there are so many things I would like to ask him questions that sound sweet and terrifying, hopeful and painful, yet full of truth. I would not be harsh on him. I would open the conversation softly, maybe with a smile, letting him know that I have seen the future whether I am making it or still struggling to find my place.
I might start by asking, “Guy, how did you get here? Are you even making progress? Do you realise that some of your choices are the reason I am in this predicament today?” Because the truth is, my whole life at this point is a mixture of history and experience some that built me, some that broke me. Each of them has left a mark, explaining why I am either suffering or succeeding.
I would ask him whether I ever truly became that “leader of tomorrow” that teachers and politicians kept talking about when I was in primary school. I would ask if I ever managed to do better than my parents did, and what kind of risks the future would demand as I grew into the man I am today. Then I would confront him gently: “Why didn’t you tell me the truth that I would grow old one day? Why didn’t you enjoy every bit of youth while you could?” Because sometimes, I feel as though I did not treat my younger self well enough.
Now, life feels like a wind pushing against a lonely tree. Even when that tree tries not to fall, it either cracks or loses a few branches. That is how adulthood feels to me tough, unpredictable, yet silently beautiful in its own lessons. I would tell my younger self that this future is not what we imagined. It is confusing, challenging, and full of people who care only about themselves. The world can be so selfish that it pushes you into corners you never planned to stand in.
I would remind him to work harder than I ever did because now I understand how much time I lost. I would tell him that the very moment he was born, his life struggles began. So, he must learn quickly that time waits for no one. Anyone who tells him that there is time is not a friend but a distraction. I would tell him to make use of every gift, every potential, as if the present were the future itself, because the days ahead will not be easy.
If I could talk to my younger self, I would tell him how much time he wasted playing games and having meaningless conversations with friends. Those moments that felt harmless then turned out to be lost opportunities. I would apologise to him for not having the foresight to understand that the things I could not fix then can only be corrected now by God’s grace.
If I could talk to my younger self, I would hold him responsible for where I am today not out of anger, but out of honesty. He lied to me. He told me that education was the key but never warned me that opening that door would mean struggling against older men and women who refused to step aside. He should have told me that the key to success is not just knowledge but persistence, courage, and resilience.
If I could talk to my younger self, I would say, “Let’s go and build ideas.” I would remind him that his brain is still fresh and capable of creating wonders. I would not tell him to chase education for its own sake, but to value it—to see it as a tool, not a trophy. I would tell him to be curious about life, to ask questions, to seek understanding rather than titles.
I would also ask him why he was so comfortable living in an environment filled with people who could not see beyond their immediate surroundings. Why did he settle for mediocrity when greatness was only a step away? If I could talk to him, I would tell him not to let others, not even our parents, control his dreams completely. I remember having a dream once that my parents did not support, and I am paying the price for ignoring my inner voice.
Truly speaking, if I could talk to my younger self, I would take life more seriously. I would tell him not to miss any chance that comes his way. I would remind him that every wasted moment becomes a regret in the future. If wishes were horses, I would have told him that all those hours spent standing by the roadside admiring other people’s cars could have been used to read the books I ignored.
Only if I could talk to my younger self trust me life would not have been this mean. I would make many corrections and build a future stronger and brighter than the one I am living now. Because life, as I see it today, is far from what I once thought it would be. The future is merciless. It is full of ups and downs, full of unexpected turns that shake even the strongest of hearts.
It is a journey through aggressiveness, disappointments, and worries. Some moments are beautiful, unique, and worth celebrating, while the very next minute, sadness and frustration knock on the door. Yet, if I could talk to that young boy again, I would not scold him. I would simply hold his hand and say, “Let’s begin again. Let’s live wiser. Let’s make better use of the time we still have.”
Because in the end, the greatest conversation we can ever have is the one we have with ourselves the one that reminds us that yesterday’s mistakes can become tomorrow’s lessons if only we listen.
