The art of listening and making your thoughts worth the ears | And reading letters to the future

I love observing people.

There is something about observing people that's really wonderful: you get to know them somehow, no matter how superficial. You notice particular quirks and you see their personality. It can be about the way they move or it can be with how they use words when they talk.

Bottom line is there is something about observing people that makes you more empathic more than you ever thought you could be.

When I was in grade school and high school, people always told me I was too quiet. They hang on to every word I say every time I spoke, because I didn't do it often. During group activities or school forums or even simple class recitations, I hardly talked. I did it because of three reasons:

1. I didn't want attention drawn to myself. I suffered from severe social anxiety, still do, and keeping to myself was a way for me to cope. If I talked, eyes would turn, and I didn't want that.
2. There's this thing called respect. A person stood and talking in front of many people is there for a reason: they have something to say that is relevant to you, an audience. They weren't there for you to ignore or overwhelm with your mumbles and whispers with your seatmate. He could be boring. He could be annoying. But he was there for a reason, and it was up to you if you would find out what it was.
3. I am used to just watching. I remember watching this medical program on TV and they talked about how kids exposed to televisions and spent so much time watching programs were more likely to just sit in class and not participate: because that's what they are used to -- watching. I didn't like talking during classes because I grew up watching what was in front of me, and digesting each information all on my own.

Of course keeping quiet all the time is not good, but it is valuable and needed in most situations. There are people who need listeners, no words needed. And that makes a difference, doesn't it?

Value your thoughts and words.

Admittedly, I overthink. One of my best friends keeps telling me that when I am hyperventilating and messaging her when the panic becomes too much. What if I said the wrong thing? What if he thought differently about my actions? What if I did the wrong thing?

She would reply, "I see nothing wrong. You're overthinking."

I live in a world of what if that sometimes, I lose opportunities and beat myself up about it. Yup, I hate taking risks. With passion.

With that said, I value my thoughts so much. I know that sometimes, they don't make sense. Even more so, I can't articulate myself well and end up relaying something that makes people misunderstand. But for some reason, I believe that my thoughts are the only things really left personal to me. I bare myself so much that my thoughts are the only things I can say are truly mine.

Letters to the future

Last year, my roommate and I decided to write letters to our future selves with FutureMe.org. It was nice, telling your 5-year-older self how you currently are. Or telling your 10-year-older self what you should have achieved by then. Even nicer is reading other people's letters to themselves for the future.

There's someone from 2013 who wrote to herself in January 2018. She made a 5-year resolution for each year, and from her simple letter, I read one thing: yearning. She and her husband had been trying to bear a child to no avail, and she hoped that by January 2018, they already did. Then there's someone from 2014 who celebrated her birthday on a cruise with her family. And the want for a surprise, no matter how superficial it seems.

Then someone sad. Who prayed that her 10 year older self is happy and living life. And there's someone who didn't expect anything more about herself 11 years later.

These letters - ranging from concise and simple to long and detailed - were all so beautiful. And I appreciate these senders baring their thoughts, though anonymously, because they mattered to them and maybe, just maybe, they mattered to someone else, too.

How about you? If you wrote something for yourself 2, 5, 10 years in the future, what would you tell him/her?