Dear Year 3, 

Really. It still surprises me that you use words like excellent and unique to describe me in the short time we’ve known each other. Well, I guess it’s not really a short time anymore… we certainly know each other far more now than when I first wrote to you the beginning of this year. And even today? The compliments you give out still make me feel like I’ve leapt over the moon… I really used my “creative gifts to create a poignant story with a clear message”?! How did I provide you with a “brilliant piece of writing”?! Did that even happen, or am I dreaming? Have you really consistently commented on how what I do is so unlike what my other classmates’ work, but that it’s great? I have no idea how to answer that. I have no scope for it, really. 

The irony of it all is that you said to care about all that work less, compared to Year 1 or 2. The weird thing is that you told me to focus my energy towards other things, not that in particular. And I suppose the oddest thing of all is that you care far more about my identity rather than my performance and weren’t you supposed to be this heavy burden laden with responsibility?

You say no. No, no, you’re not. Yes you say it’s hard work, but in your last letter you mentioned how you play with my heart, in the best way possible. Oh, you sure have been. I mean, come on, watching more rainstorms today, this time from the shelter of a cute cafe and close friends, complete with mochas, cheese scones, and berry slices? How did that even happen? Shouldn’t I be working my guts out? Shouldn’t I be so stressed I forget what really matters in life? You say no. And for “the first time in forever” I’m starting to believe it, and act upon it, too… 

This is just a quick one.

I’m about to go out to dinner with you, with a family newfound and lovely.

It seems silly, to be writing when you’re right here.

But I really like writing to you, even in the midst of it. Really. 

Thanks for it all,
Pretty Epicly Happy Year 3 Student

“I will be their God, and they will be my people…”