This. Gets. Me. ALOT.

Dear 15-Year-Old-Me, Listen to me.
Put that phone down and listen to me.

You can text that boy later. Or maybe even not. Don't, actually. Remember how you'd go vegetable shopping with Appa every Sunday morning? How you'd watch him pick the best carrots? Remember how you'd watch those old movies with Amma? Those ones you've both seen a thousand times. Remember how you'd play that Harry Potter quiz with your friend on the bus back home? Remember how you'd play Scrabble and let your sister win, because hey, you're the elder one? Remember how you'd go cycling with your friends and be so tired that Amma would laugh at how you gulped down water, after coming home?

I don't know if you remember, seeing how much you've changed.

Now, you grunt at the breakfast table, and grab a granola bar and run to the bus. You listen to 'cool' music. You hang out with kids you don't know, and wouldn't normally have liked to know. You hardly ever talk at home. You spend all your time hunched over your phone, texting guys who honestly don't care about you. You want to adult, a lot faster than faster. But you know, that extra line of kohl will not turn those boys into men. Your dystopian idea of romance is as ridiculous as you in those high heels. You smile at that phone screen, but when was the last time you smiled at Amma? You want to be different and dangerous. Wild and rough. But you end up being stupid, dense and mindless. You claim to understand love, and yet cannot see what it isn't. You don't understand it, honey. You have so much ahead of you. Places to go, things to do, people to see. But not if your chief concern is which guy likes you, which shade of lipstick goes with that skirt you've outgrown, or how to hide the puff of that cigarette from your dad. The boys, the popularity contests, the who-is-the-prettiest, none of it will matter in some years.

How do I know? Because I'm you, only I'm not you.

By @vani.97 from @ ttt_official