Write the Letter. 💌

Not because they'll read it. Because you need to write it.

Remember when we used to write love letters in secondary school? Not texts. Not WhatsApp messages. Actual letters. The folded-paper kind we'd secretly pass around in class, hoping they'd reach our crush before a teacher caught us—especially around Valentine's Day.

I remember writing one in JSS2.

Well, it was more of a declaration of what I couldn't say out loud back then: I love you, to the boy I was convinced had stolen my heart. I don't know if it's possible to have feelings so pure and genuine at twelve, but nobody could have talked me out of it. I loved him.

I remember how free I felt because I'd finally let the cat out of the bag. Now, we could have conversations without him second-guessing where I stood.

Only for him to approach me a little while later looking rather confused. Apparently, the letter had "gone missing."

My heart nearly stopped.

The scary part was that my handwriting was so distinct that if anyone had found it, they would have known immediately who wrote it. Given the class teacher I had, I was already imagining my parents being called to school and rehearsing my defence in my head.

He joined me to search the classroom because I wasn't taking the situation lightly at all. I searched frantically, but something felt off. He wouldn't stop smiling.

Like...we were both implicated if anyone found that letter. Why was this boy smiling? You guessed right, he was the one who had hidden it.

According to him, I'd taken so long to profess what we both already knew was true. Ah! I nearly chased him around the classroom because why would you play with my feelings like that?

It was cheesy. A little dramatic. Very secondary school ISH. But it was also freeing. And not because we weren't caught. I remember something else far more vividly—the relief.

There was something strangely liberating about finally putting those feelings into words. It was as though a weight I didn't even know I was carrying had suddenly disappeared.

And I think that's why I still believe in letters. Not because every letter deserves to be sent. But because every honest feeling deserves somewhere to go.

There's something about putting words on paper that feels like exhaling after holding your breath for too long. Thoughts become clearer. Emotions become lighter. Feelings that once seemed too heavy to carry suddenly become bearable.

Maybe that's why I've never stopped writing them. Letters to my future husband. Letters to my future self. Letters to people who hurt me but may never apologise. Letters I'll probably never send. Because I'm not writing for them. I'm writing for me.

Words are powerful. When people hear that, they often think about how words can wound or heal—and they're right.

But I've also learned that words kept inside us can become heavy. Writing them down doesn't erase the pain, but it often makes it easier to carry.

So here's something I think everyone should try at least once. Write the letter. Tell someone you appreciate them. Tell someone you forgive them. Tell someone you miss them. Tell someone goodbye.

Or better still, write to the version of yourself that's carrying more than anyone knows. Not for pity. Not for attention on social media. But for yourself.

Because sometimes, the greatest gift a letter gives isn't closure for the person receiving it. It's liberation for the person writing it.

So, will you do it—write the letter?

Day 18/20.