On Letter to Myself
Hi, K.
Have you ever wondered why you refer to yourself as K, and not Ken or Kenneth? Do you hate your name? Introspection tells us that we don't, but there's a certain quality to being referred to by the first letter of your name. It's special, like you are the only "K" in the world. You always wanted to be called K, but there's always another K, or Kaye, or Kei already in the office when you arrive. You tried to do this in the conglomerate you are working at now, but it didn't catch on.
I digress. Hi, K. You are writing this on August 29, 2025, at 12:18 in the afternoon, inside the office. You just thought, "Well, this is confusing in a way. Do I refer to myself, the one writing, as I; and the one reading, as you? It probably doesn't matter. You are I, and I am thou."
I digress again. That's what thoughts are when left unchecked, huh? They branch off into other thoughts, like those videos where handymen use electric current to decorate wood. They branch off, like different realities, different probabilities, different possibilities. What if we are, as the legends say, just figments and dreams of a sleeping god? That would be scary, wouldn't it? Imagine that you are just nothing but a thought that can be waved off in an instant.
In a way, that's a relief too. It means that our pains, our tragedies, our hurts and tribulations—they are just thoughts too. And the thing with dreams—they do not all get destroyed in an instant. Sometimes, you dream of something and then dream of something else; is it not possible that we can think away our hurts without dismissing ourselves as well? It's hard to explain—but can you remove your pain without removing the entirety of being?
This is becoming philosophical. Anyway, K. That's all for now. You might be wondering what the point of this letter is. I don't know either. You might know in the future. For now, it's the end. But it isn't really, is it? Like dreams—this is just a figment of your vast reality. It is up to you, my friend, my self, my dear future, if you destroy this or keep this as a memory.
Yours, K.
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