it happened again, but this time the impact corresponded to a wild kangaroo blindsided by a speeding truck flashing down the freeway at 200 kilometres. In this moment my primal instincts weren’t driven by the need for survival: instead, they were a desperate attempt to escape the person I was becoming. As a child, I had written what some might call selfish letters but amidst the rush of cars racing past at 200 kilometres, who would take notice of the envelope clenched in my pouch? It may sound corrupt but my commitment to writing pledges to never tell a lie.

But now, lying here on a deserted roadside, feeling the aftershocks of the collision, my yearning has shifted. I no longer crave the embrace of such sadness.

Crammed in my pouch, 22 years later, I have decided to recreate that letter, one to the little me who thought the solution was to run away from the world.

Dear Nes,
I understand your fear, which may lead to restless nights and mornings filled with unseen chains.
You wish to grow up, to leave this waking nightmare.
But now, 22 years later, I am writing to you, to the young child from my past.

Even if dread still follows you on certain days, you choose not to fasten your tooth of strength to the door handle.
Rather, you let it penetrate your gums, revealing a voice that was long forgotten in the muck of youth.

You continue to write and learn,
Three years on the trail, travelling nonstop.
You have worked hard, taken up leadership roles for people, managed a store, and fostered aspiring leaders.

I remember the silent beg to God that said,
A want, so unjust, so desperate, to silence your voice.
Now, however, your voice is a salve of serenity for many tired minds, and your words pour from you like a river of wisdom.

Maybe when you desired the age of 22 you had imagined a different existence.
Dreams and moonlight weave a tale as old as Cinderella.
Sadly, love wasn’t as romantic as you had imagined it would be when you were younger.
The rugged landscape of love gave you strength and tenacity; reality, in contrast to fairy tales, sculpted you from stone.

You will be proud of yourself, my dear, because you will be able to see the warrior you have grown into in the mirror of time.