Dear reader,
I've got only one sheet of paper here to write on but I know (and I hope) the letter will reach my family first, my friends, their families, my dog, his friends---the cycle should go on until it turns yellow. But dear reader, I don't want you to get attached. I don't want you to keep the actual letter. Pass it on. Let go. I guess its part of the "moving on" process as well, don't you think? But neither do I want you to post you reading the letter while bawling and going hysterical, in youtube. For shame! I don't know you, if that's the case.
Shucks---like I said, just one blasted sheet of paper. (Told you we should've saved the trees). Stop. Before you continue, read it slowly. Imbibe it. And therefore here goes my last entry in my life:
It's okay...I guess. There's no such thing as an untimely death, as my parents would say. (Mom, dad, please don't eat your words now. No, well. Swallow it. That's useless, now.) I should actually be very privileged to be passing that tunnel. I'm going to be with God... right? Well I'd like to think so. I don't think I was that an evil person. But if ever, I wonder what circle of hell I'd be in. Gluttonous? Oh dear. Lustful? Heaven forbid!
You're probably wondering why my language at this moment is quite candid and casual. Don't wonder. Because if it weren't, you’d find this letter filled with ink stains. I want this as presentable and as pleasing to your eyes as possible.
Now look what you've done. I've lost those words and my train of thought. Now you might not want to read this because it turns out to be a heap of rubbish ranting. Perhaps, an exclamation such as "I can't believe she actually wasted a tree!"...or maybe that's precisely why you want to read it because it'll be the last time you'll actually see me putting these "giving trees" into use---it'll be the last time you and I will hear my voice engraved in this parchment. (Unless you want me to haunt you---I'll be willing to do that. Organize a séance or something. No, don't. It'll just be a waste of money. Just invoke the words, "Carlie, Johnny Depp!" or "Carlie, mainstream sucks!" or something similar to that, and I'll appear right there. Shucks, I'll be going even before him. ANYWAY...)
Tick, tock, tick, tock. Each second, I feel the little molecules in my body disappearing one by one. (Hey listen, I'll be throwing little requests here so be able to recognize them…like…now) Hey, when I turn into ashes, please don't imprison me in a little urn. Gather all the people you feel I laid an impression on and search for the most beautiful natural landscape---Please tell whoever might be there to take a pinch of my ash and hold me in their palm for awhile. And when mom or dad feels like it's the right time (or when you receive that wind effect), simultaneously blow me away. This is my sanctuary---taking the warmth of your soul with me and being part of every element of this world.
I still have space. That wasn't a concluding quote to initiate your little tear-bombs. So save it.
It would simply be tacky and mainstream if I say, "I'd like to take this opportunity to say I love you and thank you…blah blah blah." Nicolas Sparks inspired letter, really. So, for once I’m going to suck up my pride and degrade myself for fear of my poor memory: Go tacky and mainstream. What a shameful sacrifice.
So…I love you. (At this age, I don't really know if I've gotten its meaning right. But I'll go with my gut.) I love you. I always have. I will always. If you wanted to hear me, feel me express it, all you've got to do is take this letter in your arms and hug it. Never mind if you crumple it. Or if you don't want to crumple it, hug someone or something else. Hug my mom, my dad, my brother, my sister, my dog, my lola, my lolo, my titas, their husbands, my nieces and my nephews, my friends, the next door neighbor, your enemy, the person right next to you, the child in the street, the tree, the flowers, the pillow, the book, the tv, my favorite jacket, the sun, the stars, the moon, the rain---anything you can possibly find within your reach. And hello again---I'm right here. Embracing you.
(Again, nothing personal because however close I am to you, however you are affected by it, I still don't want you to get attached.)
And like that Aviva commercial---"Thank you. I couldn't have done it without you." Please, give yourselves an applause and a standing ovation. Celebrate. (Please do this as well when you blow me into the world. I want your voices accompanying me when I'm flying.) You've done well in making life wonderfully beautiful. And that's also why I love you. It was an enriching experience. I hope I've made the most out of it. I hope God, however you perceive him to be, has been good to you as He was to me.
And I also hope I've positively changed a few lives. I want to leave this world knowing I've done my part. At least I'll know I wasn't completely useless. Haha.
Please don't let me see you crying. If you must, weep for joy. And smile. Think happy thoughts. Never judge others. Learn to accept and respect. Count your blessings. Don't take life too seriously---be silly. Read. Plant a tree. Save the endangered animals. Learn something new. Debate. Pray. And mind your manners---say I love you and thank you at all times.
I can't think of anything else to say anymore. Oh, please look for my happiness notebook. I want you to continue it. Let each person write down her name and the simple things that make he or she happy. When it's filled up---burn it and brings its ashes to the same place you brought mine. Blow it into the world. And don’t forget to smile. You're spreading happiness in the world!
And I love you. Don't ever forget that. I'll be seeing you.
Carlie
PS- It's okay.
