I received a letter sent from November 19, 2020.

On November 19, 2021, I woke up from the sound of my phone chiming. It was 6:30, and my phone was brimming with many notifications. I almost always check my emails first, so I did.

There, in bold letters signifying an unread message, read:

A letter from November 19th, 2020

For a moment, I was stunned. I always send letters to my future self, mostly to random dates, but I almost already knew what the letter from one year ago was going to be about. I braced myself, clicked on the email, and started to read.

Dear FutureMe,

It was November 19th, 2020. You woke up at 3 am, crying, because of very painful menstrual cramps. It was so painful, you felt like your torso would be torn to half. For some reason, you manage to fall asleep again, and woke up at 6 am.

You didn't bother getting up. You're used to getting up at 8 anyway. So you spent your time reading, and reading some more. It was at 8 am that you realized your parents were unusually quiet. There was not the usual morning radio news, or the loud noises pans, plates, utensils made. Your dog Coco was silent — you thought he was probably out somewhere.

Your other older, much loved dog, Chuchay, was silent. She had been sick for a week now, with colds and very bad cough. The night before, you snuggled her, and she snuggled back. You rubbed her back while wrapping her up in a comforter because she was shivering and coughing. You wanted to wipe off the snot off her nose even, but it came off without you having to do anything.

She was such a baby the night before and allowed you to touch her and baby her like you always did. She was so heavy! You found it hard to lift her. You noticed that her water was running out, so you got up and poured her another.

To your surprise, she drank water. You had been finding it hard to make her drink water, much less eat her food, so you realized that she was probably getting better. You left with that thought in mind, planning to take her out to walk the next morning.

But today, you got up 30 minutes late, and your Nanay told you something as soon as she saw you.

"Chuchay's dead."

And you cried. And cried. And cried. And cried some more. You stood there and cried for a good 10 minutes. You cried like a five-year-old who missed an episode of her favorite cartoon. You cried, and you couldn't stop. You passed by Chuchay's area, and she wasn't there. Her collar was there hanging on a hook, and she wasn't there. Her bowl was there as usual, but she wasn't there. Her dog food container was there, but she wasn't there. And you cried some more. And more. And it was so painful, this loss, because Chuchay was one of your best friends.

She was there when you were alone in the house and scared. She was there when you were crying, looking up at you as if she knew you needed listening. She listened when you wanted her to, and snuggled when you asked her to. She loved your belly rubs, and she especially loved it when you ran with her outside.

You hated that you didn't spend much time with her, and writing this right now, I hate myself, too. Maybe I could have done more for her. Maybe I should have stayed with her the entire night. Maybe I should have... I could have...

And there is this hole right now. In my heart. And I hear her barks against the silence of the night but they are all in my head. It's so difficult to accept that I won't be able to see her anymore. Or play with her. Or hug her. Or carry her around. Or just talk to her. And hang out with her.

Today, you lost a best friend. You found it hard to concentrate, and your eyes just kept tearing up. Sometimes you managed to successfully pretend you were already all right, but more than 12 hours later, you still weren't. You were back to the crying mess you were that morning.

And you just wanted to cry, as if crying would bring her back. It wouldn't, but you still did anyway.

I want you to remember today, because Chuchay is worth it. I want to stop crying now, but it'll probably take me a long time to get used to her lack of presence. Existence. And the pain is coming back in full circle.

Today, I lost a best friend, and I couldn't stop crying. I hope the Future Me feels better now. I probably wouldn't in the coming days.

Yourself

I was debating on whether or not to include a photo of Chuchay. But I decided not to. The moment I read this November 19th, 2021, I couldn't even remember how Chuchay felt, or looked, or smelt.