So here’s another one.
“500 years from now, an archaeologist accidentally stumbles on the ruins of your home, long buried underground. What will she learn about early-21st-century humans by going through (what remains of) your stuff?”
Letter to the archeologist of 2500 from a girl in 2014.
The long four walls that have housed me all my years ended up being ruins for you to find. Everything I’ve known is now almost non-existent, so to clarify, here’s what I hope you will find.
You will discover different sized lines on my bedroom door keeping up with my height but you won’t really know how I grew up and how exactly tall I was.
You’ll probably find pencils and papers all over and under my room but I wish you could’ve seen how many essays I’ve handed in over the years and feel the sweat still marked on the pen from my palms.
You might still be able to find the flower I taped in my diary when I was thirteen because I never wanted to throw away a long awaited act of puppy love given to me, but sadly you missed my skipped heartbeat at the sight of it. Oh and I hope you don’t find the rest of my diaries/later on called journals because I could not stand people’s sarcastic faces at the thought of the word. You’ll find immaturity and grammatically misspelled awkwardness on a 14x11cm strawberry scenting hello kitty paper.
I do hope you find my mother’s drawings, much more sophisticated and artistically challenging than my cartoon network doodles. I hope you find her big painting of dancing women in colored dresses. She never sold it or showcased it to anyone but I always saw it live enough to speak to and dance with.
I hope you find my earphones because I lost them about a year ago.
You’ll probably find my bed but will never really discover the comfort it enveloped me with when I was sick in its sheets. You’ll find clothes that used to fit me and pictures of people who used to know me, and I them, but not the conversations and bonds we’ve shared. I hope you listen closely enough to the pictures to hear what we were talking about.
So in conclusion, archeologist of the future, I regret to inform you that the photo frames you will find are the closest reflections of the comfort and love that would flow around our three-bedroom house. I do hope I’ve shed some light on how things were back here, and I hope they haven’t changed much later on.