Letter to my son: You are not my child.
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I don’t know when in the future, I will have the chance to discuss on the below.
I don’t even know if I can confront you and say these lines, nor manage any questions you may have afterward.
So I am writing this letter.
If you ever read this letter, just call on me to say “Hey Mum, how are you?” or visit me and hug me. Nothing else, nothing more.
My son,
As you grow old, day by day, and I grow also with you, the more I see so much unknown in you. Unknown to me, to my past, my understanding, my experiences, my expectations, my reactions, my ego expecting you to be my legacy to this world.
Day by day, the more I believe that you are not my child.
If bringing you to life was my decision alone, you would not have been born on the day or time of your birthday. Most probably it would have taken more time; I would have been still deciding…
You would not have the eyes you have.
You would not be as tall as you are.
You would not speak the way you do.
You would not think the way you do.
You would not like the sport you do, nor prefer the food that you do.
If you were my child and I was the mastermind of your creation, I would have chosen otherwise on all the above.
Knowing the impact people and surroundings have on you, you as a whole of body and mind, if I was asked and could control it, I wouldn’t have allowed that you were born here with us.
If you were my child, most probably you would be a mix and match of other people I have met, admire, and would like to see living ahead in time. That is the farthest my imagination can go.
But you are not my child. Thank God!
I am not your creator and I am feeling fine with this understanding.
Because this is why you are one.
This is how it has become possible to be one and unique, thus a living miracle.
You are unique, destined to live here now. Not in the future.
