The Book That Brought Me Back to Myself

The Book That Made Me Fall in Love with Thinking Again

Sometimes, a book doesn’t just speak to you—it speaks for you.

There was a time in my life when I felt swallowed by the weight of the world. My 8-5 job had drained me. Life felt too loud, too busy, too overwhelming—and somehow, I had forgotten who I was beneath all that noise. In a small act of rebellion against the routine, I joined the local library. I didn't know what I was looking for. I just knew I needed something that would remind me what it felt like to feel again.

I was wandering between shelves, letting titles brush past my eyes, when I saw it—"Letters to My Teenage Self." I don’t remember the author exactly—maybe Bessie Head? But I do remember the presence of powerful South African voices, including Noleen Maholwana-Sangqu, speaking directly to their younger selves. And that… that struck something in me.

Reading each letter was like peeling away layers of my own numbness. These weren’t just reflections. They were confessions. Tender reminders. Apologies. Warnings. Hugs. They carried weight and wisdom, grief and grit, and somehow made me feel like I wasn’t alone in my confusion and struggle. Page after page, I could feel my mind slowly opening—not just to their stories, but to mine.

And so, if I could say just one thing to my younger self... it would be this:

Yho Sisi, andazi noba mandiqale ngaphi uthetha nawe,

xa ndiku jonga nje ndibona iceba njee okanye ichebetywana lebakwana elingazi qondiyo ukuba lomelele yaye lunesi phiwo esinjani.

Ewe ndiyayazi ba yonke into ayenzi sence—you are just living day by day, going forward yes—but you don't know where you’re going.

You don’t even know where you come from.

I won’t get deeper on that for now.

I will write you on the next lifetime about that part.

So now I will be secretly with you all the way.

We’ll cry together. We’ll laugh together.

Silwa neentshaba sobabini, and sithandaza sobabini—uhlae uyazi lonto.

Be strong. Bambelela through this journey.

It’s your life, and everything is happening as it should be.

It’s a process of your growth. It will come in stages.

Now please, noba kwenzeka ntoni—do stay humble and kind.

And remember to be journal—so that umane uzikhumbuza uba usukaphi.

I am with you… come uzode undibone.

That letter flowed out of me like I’d been holding it in for years. And maybe I had.

Because after reading that book, something inside cracked open. My mind went straight into episodes of memories—it was like I had unlocked a long-lost archive buried deep in my soul. I remembered things that used to make me smile in the midst of pain. I felt lighter. I wanted to talk. I wanted to shout. And then I remembered something even deeper…

A short story I wrote when I was 16.

I could see myself writing it. I remembered I used green ink.

And then I cried. Not out of sadness, but because I saw myself again.

For the first time in years, I remembered what joy looked like in my own body.

Before this moment, I couldn’t even picture what I used to look like.

All I had were sad memories—harsh ones. I didn’t remember what I liked, what made me laugh, or what made me me. But that book? That book called me home.

It sparked chaos and curiosity in the best way.

It asked: What if I’m not meant to live like this?

And from there, I began to search within. To speak to myself again. To demand answers.

To ask—Where did she go?

Now?

I no longer hold back.

Not in thought. Not in truth.

And definitely not in love for the girl I once was—and the woman I’m becoming.

“Letters to My Teenage Self” wasn’t just a book.

It was a mirror, a bridge, and a beginning.

And I hope, wherever she is, that little girl with the green ink knows…

Ndilapha, and she was never forgotten.