The Last Letter

 After sorting through my situation with Aura, I decided to write her one last letter. Though I thought I’d accept any outcome after she read it, deep down, I desperately hoped to talk to her. And that hope blinded me.

In the letter, I wrote that I’m unpacking my past and seeking redemption and forgiveness for what I did. I thought that if she forgave me, it wouldn’t be hard for her to reply, and if she hadn’t, talking to each other would be better for both of us. I wrote about that too. I sent the letter to the accounts I could access; I didn’t know where I was blocked, so I could only hope she’d receive it. But the next day, I was sure she got it. In Telegram, the chat with her disappeared. When I tried to find it, I saw she’d deleted my message and blocked me. Instead of reacting calmly, as I expected from myself, I was gripped by growing anger with every second. This could only mean one thing—she still hadn’t forgiven me and didn’t even plan to, even though two years had passed. It meant I’d done something so awful that a person was still mad at me after two years. How could I forgive myself for that if she couldn’t? I hit a dead end. From not understanding how to fix it, bad thoughts and emotions started consuming me. If I’m not worthy of forgiveness and have to carry this pain, how can I move forward? I won’t be able to walk into my future without letting go of the past. I got angrier and angrier at myself; anger filled my soul, and since I knew exactly who I was mad at and why, that anger turned into pure rage. I walked around the mall, trying not to look people in the eyes because all I saw in them were bodies that would be so easy and satisfying to break. I felt two forces battling inside me: my anger and the right path I’d stepped onto. I knew one thing for sure—I didn’t want to return to the hell I’d climbed out of with such effort. There were too many thoughts: good ones, bad ones, what was, what will be, how it all affects me, and what to do—yes, “what to do?” was the main question. I remembered the words of the wise turtle from the movie Kung Fu Panda, who said, “Your thoughts are like waves on troubled water, but if you let them settle, the answer will come on its own.” I thought it was good advice and tried to calm down, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t. People were walking by too often, the sounds were too loud, someone was constantly trying to talk to me. I realized I wouldn’t be able to focus here, so I postponed the attempt until the evening when I’d be home.
When I got home, I took a shower, ate a few oranges, and, making sure I had no plans for the day and nothing should distract me, I sat in a lotus position—as much as my flexibility allowed—and tried to clear my mind of everything except today’s situation. For better focus, I did Wim Hof’s breathing exercise, not fully, just two breath holds, which was enough to clear out unnecessary thoughts.

I started calmly thinking about the situation. First, I considered it from the perspective of what we’re meant to live through. If this situation was given to me and disturbed me so much, it means I need to understand something, to learn some lesson from it. But Aura was involved too—maybe she was supposed to understand something as well, but what? I remembered how she stopped talking to her childhood friend. Her friend had acted childishly in a situation, and saying it wasn’t the first time, Aura blocked her and, despite her friend’s attempts to apologize and reconcile, didn’t let her back into her life. Maybe this was a chance for her to break that cycle by writing to me. Of course, I can only guess; I don’t know for sure. But the most important thing was, what lesson was there for me? At first, I thought it was about her ignoring me—I used to hate being ignored. But no, I haven’t cared about that for a while; now, when I write to someone, I don’t even check if it’s been read, so it’s definitely not that. What angered me the most? That she didn’t want to forgive me, which meant I couldn’t forgive myself. But if the point is to forgive myself, why did I need her forgiveness? I wanted her to know what kind of person I am now, to see the changes and forgive me. I wanted her forgiveness to be proof that I’d changed. But I have changed, and her knowing that fact won’t change who I am now. So, her forgiving me wouldn’t change anything—then why am I beating myself up over it? Am I doing it for nothing? The past can’t be changed; all I can do is realize my mistake, repent, and change. I’ve already done that—there’s nothing more I can do.
All these thoughts sounded very logical, but deep down, a nagging thought lingered that this was just a convenient excuse I’d made up for myself. I wanted a sign that I was on the right path. I thought about it a bit more, and a light breeze came through the open window, creating a draft that gently tapped the door, distracting me from diving into my thoughts. So, I stopped thinking and picked up my phone. There was one unread message that came while I was thinking. It was a photo. Someone sent me a picture of a rainbow after the rain. I couldn’t have asked for a clearer sign, but soon, for no reason at all, another person sent me a photo of the sun breaking through the clouds. I burst into tears. At that moment, I saw how much God supports me. I couldn’t stop the tears of gratitude. I thanked God for being with me, for always being with me, and I know He’ll always be with me, even if I stop walking this path, even if I stray from it. If God believes in me so much, what right do I have not to believe in Him?

When my emotions calmed down a bit, I thought, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t ask, “Why does God believe in me so much?” I think it’s because He, too, wants to be whole, and people are part of Him and meant to fulfill some function. I believe that function should be joyful for everyone because it’s our essence. I don’t know what that function is yet, but I really want to find out.