Dear Teen Me from Author and Illustrator Salima Alikhan (THE PIED PIPER OF AUSTIN)
Dear Teen Me (to my thirteen-year-old self),
Note the Bert-like unibrow.
First off, I would like you to know that your mustache, unibrow, eyeglasses and braces will all one day fall by the wayside and people will actually be free to observe your face, which isn’t half-bad. The fact that you wear bifocals at age thirteen? Contact lenses are on their way. Your valiant attempts at hair removal will last all your life, but you will soon become a nimble-fingered ninja of de-hairing. Also, in the future, people will be more generous than your fellow eighth graders about a stray hair now and again.
You feel like a tottering, gawky, stalklike creature now, but your ridiculously high metabolism will be much appreciated later. You will even grow hips. Right now, you stare at the Other Girls—the popular girls—and despair. I mean, really despair. You cannot fathom what it would be like to go through a single day being that pretty, or having any boys look at you at all. But you know what? In a couple of years, they will. Boys will begin to look at you. You won’t really know what to do with the attention after eight years of serious awkwardness, but it will be nice nonetheless.
Salima at age 15, undoubtedly reciting Cure lyrics to herself.
Now we have the physical out of the way—on to the deeper, harder stuff. The internal stuff. First, the mind. You are weird, you know this. You have always been weird. You have always been told you are weird. You look at those classmates of yours who try to cultivate their weirdness by being wacky on purpose with incredulity. You can’t imagine it. You want to fit in, desperately, and be part of a crowd, though it never seems to happen. It seems there is no place on earth for thoughts like yours. You live in a world of dreams and possibilities and your classmates’ internal workings are far more interesting to you than school itself. So far you have coasted by on intelligence, but you sense that you are perilously close to needing to actually PAY ATTENTION to make it in school. You don’t know if you can do this. People captivate you. They worm their way into your stories; they are the most fascinating things on earth. They are all you think about, ever. Yet you wish you were more normal, attentive. Less excited by People.
Please, dear child, this is all OK. This is what you are made of. You will make it through the school system and you will not die from it. There is a place on earth for your mind. It is a good mind. And it has good company, just waiting out there for it. You will discover yourself as a writer and artist, things you have already done all your life. You will do these things professionally. There are others like you, and none of them are Martians.
And for your heart….it will get better. It will get easier. If I could take you by the shoulders and impress one thing upon you: it’s that you’re a good person. A very good person. You are compassionate and loving, even if the reinforcement you’ve received to that end has been lacking at best. You can dismiss anyone who tells you otherwise; they are idiots. What’s more, you are strong and proud and a fighter, and you will manage every single thing life has ever thrown at you. You will learn to allow yourself to be vulnerable one day despite hardship. And this is all because of your current wish, your innermost plea: you want nothing more than to live with an open heart. Do you know how mature that is? How incredibly brave? I’m so proud of you. So amazed by you. Your wish has decided the tempo of your life. You will manage this, and everything else you dream. I promise.
Oh, and in 10th grade, do not corner Shane in the music room and try to kiss him. He is shy and will not like it. Note* If you DO decide to do this, do not take Shane’s disinterest as a death sentence, wondering if perhaps an errant chin hair has caused him to recoil. You will find true love one day and he will have way more oomph than Shane, trust me.
And those novels you want to write? Make an OUTLINE FOR YOUR FIRST BOOK. Dear God, please make an outline. *whimpering*
AND: If you see me in your dreams, I am not some creepy thirtysomething Doppelganger. I’m trying to light the way for you. I believe in you. Big hugs. Signing off now.
– Salima
Grown-up Salima.
Salima Alikhan currently lives in Austin, Texas. The book she most recently illustrated is The Lawyer’s Week Before Christmas (Pelican, 2010.) Before that, she wrote and illustrated The Pied Piper of Austin, also for Pelican, 2009. Before THAT, she illustrated Rocky Mountain Night Before Christmas (Pelican, 2006) and Pieces of Another World (Sylvan Dell, 2005.) All can be found on her website, www.salimaalikhan.net.
Salima was a teacher at one point and cares deeply about the welfare of children. She feels incredibly fortunate to both like them and write for them. Right now, she is exceptionally busy working on her first young adult fantasy novel, which she is super duper excited about.
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I love this post! Salima, I’ve always thought you were awesome!
Thanks so much PJ! I think the same about you!!:)
Great, Salima!
Wonderful letter, Salima! Such good, loving advice for your young self. I’m so glad to have you as a friend. And that bit about the outline…can you tell my teen self, too?
Holly, we will send that info back to our young selves via some time-machine action.
So glad to have you as a friend too!!
Salima, this is such a great letter. I want to hug 13-yr-old you! Excellent advice about the outline. I’d be happy even to go back five years and convince myself of that one.
Thanks Shelli! I would have taken that hug!
Lovely, Salima! Your tenderness toward your younger self is touching and inspiring!
Thanks Jennifer!
Reading this just reminds me how much I miss you and your weird personality. You are a large part of how I learned to be comfortable with who I am. I always looked at you as kindof my big sister I never had and for that I will never forget you or any of the deep conversations we shared.
Brad! OMG! I didn’t even see this comment till just now! Thanks so much. Miss you, fella.