So frustrating because past me had all of the answers already.  Why did I not listen to what I always knew?  Well...I guess we both know why, don't we.  Sometimes we have to try something new in the lab.  Sometimes we have to try a new build order.  Sometimes we have to try and execute something that we don't really know yet.  You can't progress forward if you are always stuck in practice mode all the time.  And you know what that means.  Sometimes, you're going to have to take an L.  Maybe the L will be easier to take if you know that you weren't "trying your hardest".  But sometimes, you =were= trying your hardest, and you still have to take the L.

All through my life I've been spoiled by not having to take the L........is what I =would= say, but we both know that's not true, right?  I'm one of those people who only queues up in ranked mode when I know it's an easy win.  I quit out when I can tell that I'm outmatched.  Maybe even evenly matched.  Because that's how you increase your MMR, isn't it?  I was told that I should win more and lose less.  That I should stop losing at all.  Who was supposed to tell me that losing is vital?

 

"Never lose ownership of yourself, Timmie.  Never give the power to control your emotions and hence heart and mind to someone else.  You will soon not even know what is right from wrong."

Kiki told me this, once.  Maybe, someone I know could have used this advice too.  Maybe me, too.  Sometimes I feel that I am at my best when I am trying my hardest to be someone else.  That is the paradox of Sayuri, I think.  That when I think about "being my best", it's about being something that I'm not.  And yet, at the same time, when Sayuri is at her best, she doesn't try to be anybody else for anyone else.  Am I at my best when I am acting like Sayuri?  Or am I at my best when I am trying to be like Sayuri?  That probably makes no sense, but luckily, the "you" that I'm writing to probably understands, right?  Maybe the you from next year would also understand, too, what I mean.  Sayuri has some friends, too.  I'm sure she takes good care of Ducky, right?  She, too, writes her letters sometimes.

I wonder, whether she is friends with the girl in that tower.  Would she go to visit sometimes?  Maybe all the time?  Would they get along?  I'm sure...that they would, wouldn't they?

"I didn't know what to do sometimes, except to show you the pebbles and bark on the trees, remind youy the little joys, that not every rock crumbles -- at least not while you see it, are with it.  I know this feeling of abandonment and feel from your words that you are better, learned The way, your way, to let go, cope with life.  You seem peaceful, more accepting, more smiley and able to let go.  This is wonderful.  I am glad."

But have I really learned to let go?  You say that so easily, like it's obvious and apparent.  What would you know about the struggles of letting go?  Isn't that a bit too ironic?  Would you even want me to let go?  You would, wouldn't you.  It's written plainly in your words.  To be more accepting, to move forward, and to move on.  But you can't decide what is best for me.  Only I can.  I'll move on when I want to.  When do you think that is?

 

"I love and share light a lot, but I also want to be the central light a lot.  I need to be first on people's lists, I guess...I discovered this year (...) that I'm not first on people's lists or no longer am.  Not first on the lists of people I care a lot about.  Sometimes, painfully, I'm not on the list at all."

So it's not just about shining brightly, then, like I had always thought it was.  How, then, do you stay on people's lists?  When this is something that neither Kiki nor Lala can achieve?

And yet...you know, there is someone's list that you are still on.  Why do you think that is?  I'm first on somebody's list, too.  It's a shame that neither of them is the list that we care about.  Perhaps staying on someone's list is not a matter of trying harder, not a matter of being better, not even a matter of shining brightly for them.  It's simply a matter of their list.  Their choices.  Kiki, how could you ever disappear from my list if I chose to carve your name into it on a stone tablet?  Don't you dare come to me in my dreams and ask me to sand it away.  And if anyone else asks me to cover it up, I will tell them that they have the wrong person.

I thought, for a shining, painfully brilliant moment, that the reason I had etched your name into my tablet, is that I hoped that you would do the same.  Of course, that's always been part of it, too.  I've accepted it over time...that with my stone tablet I can shout heathen from the top of the mountain, I can feign righteousness over those who could not possibly be deemed worthy to set foot upon my hallowed ground.

But that's also not it, either.  There is something deeper.  You can call it maladaptive all you want, but it won't change my mind.  It's not because I "decided" that this is the best way to live my life.  It is because when push comes to shove and when I tumble down the top of that mountain, I find that the thing I am clenching to my breast is my stone tablet.  So when you reach your hand out to catch me from my fall, don't you dare ask me to let go of it to ease my burden.  For it is not my burden, but my strength.  I know so, because I feel it deep in my heart.  When I am sad.  When I am happy.  When I am strong.  When I am weak.  You are a part of me through all of it.  And I won't have it any other way.