Dear: Someone that changed my life

Too many people change my life. I'm like water. I'm always moving, always processing and always filling every container. Always changing. Sometimes I can be a stream of fresh spring water. Other times I'm a fucking tsunami. People are my inspiration, and everyone who I give two shits about contributes to a change. Earlier this year, I wanted to destroy someone's most prized possession. Just to see what it feels like. That was seriously my new years resolution. Due to everyone I've met this year (it's been a big year) now I want to be the nicest person I can be. So who should I send this letter to?

You tell me.

xxx

Dear: The friendliest person I knew for only one day

Mrs._________

I have completely forgotten her name

We went to Mzuzu in 2005. I was going to the Mzuzu market, infamous for it's amazing wax cloths, and I had to pass by this womans house to drop american medicine off. At first I was feeling inconvenienced, because we were so very behind schedule. But I love the thick greenery of Northern Malawi, so we parked outside her house. Which was a small village house. It had an out door kitchen and bathroom. I wondered how she got anywhere without a car, where she went to use the phone and how her son sends her American Dollars for things around the house. She hugged me hello, the driver and the other passenger, and we swapped hello's and how are you's and how is life in America? Good Good Good. We laughed. Then she went to the back, and brought out a tin bowl of warmish hot water. We washed our hands, and out came three other women with one big plate of nsima, nkuku yachi kuda (village chicken), stewed Chambo fish, and stewed peanut pumpkin leaves.

This happens all the time in Malawi. But now that I was an adult, and I had lived for one year in the non-communal western lifestyle... this lunch held incredible weight. A poor woman fed all three of us until we could eat no more. I was so touched by her kindness, and the general kindness of people in third world countries.

Mrs. ______ you and everyone who has ever showed me unsolicited kindness are in my prayers.

The Energy Never Dies

It's my favorite time of the year (it's officially better than my birthday, who woulda thunk it?) Not because of xmas, although that's dope. It's more about how happy and hopeful and resolute people are... I love collective fever.

My new years resolutions (yes, I always do this and it works for me - dammet) are:

1. To be a nicer person.

It's not that I'm a meanie - I'm an amazing person. When I like you.
I just need to learn how to handle my negative emotions better. What I typically do is, when I'm pissed at someone - I cut myself off. I usually say a bunch of shit I don't mean, so I don't risk that chance by hanging around and talking about it. Of course, this needs to change. When I was writing one of the 30 day letters, I realized that I was imposing the worst kind of pain I ever experienced onto other people. Which is just, not Nice. I don't like causing pain if I don't have to. The only time I have allowed myself to inflict pain onto someone else is if I am under attack. Literally and figuratively.

Ultimately, I'm hoping to repair my karma. I need ALL the good fortune and blessings I can get. And I know some people are ingrates, which is fine Lord, if anyone doesn't want their blessings - feel free to give them to me!

2. To get my munny up.

I've been writing business plans (yes, only I can take 24 credits in a semester and promise myself to be drunk for 3 days right afterwards but instead end up writing business plans and looking for jobs like a man with his head on fire looks for water) and now that I have solid numbers... Things in the bank need to happen, and they needed to happen last week.

3. To wear my heart on my sleeve like Michael Scott.

Watch a full season (any) of the American version of The Office to know what I mean

I've realized that there is a lot of "Fronting" in the streets. People have an obsession with control - I am not the exception, but I want to take a different approach to my life and my love. I want to tell and show people exactly how I feel, nothing held back - even the babyish things. Honestly I think I'm a victim of misunderstanding, and I want people to know exactly who they were/are to me. I also want more "live" love. As in face on. I don't like texting or emailing about serious matters, if we're having a problem - either come to me in person or call me if you can't travel. I'll bake a cake, and we can talk about it over tea (I'm a tea-stan) or "cawfee" *in my new york accent*

Dear: The Person You Know That Is Going Through The Worst Of Times

To every suffering soul on this planet.

I wish you all the love that every living thing in this universe has to offer.
You need it
You deserve it
So you should have it.
Let it be your blanket

Conversations in Passing: The Laws of Love

Me: Do you want to get married someday? not me and you, so don't be cute

Fiona: I didn't think so but seeing as you're so insecure about it... I don't know if I want to have a wedding or even sign the certificate, but I do want passionate, no compromise, intimate companionship

Me:"a counter-intuitive love"

Fiona: and you?

Me: I don't want to get "married". I think weddings are like going to the circus. Even though celebrating love is something I believe in. I'm in this phase where I break down life and love to the extreme basic. Like, at its purest and simplest form What Is It exactly? What were people doing before they had to sign a paper and have a "wedding"? Before there was even writing or talking? They were simply loving each other, and if they wanted to stay - they stayed. Whats this "vowing" business I often wonder..

Fiona: EXACTLY. Its like trapping each other instead of loving each other

Me: Its like signing a contract. How do you sign a contract for something you can't measure? You sign a contract for your phone bill. For your job. But for love? does that sound natural??

Fiona: Right?? So that means you don't want to get "married" huh. I wonder if we will all settle in the end. The young are so idealistic.

Me: I know!! It might be generational. I mean, our parents would have been considered "old maids" by now. Now opportunities are even harder, just having a degree doesn't guarantee a job anymore. Since EVERYONE has a degree. So things like having the stuff that makes a family is like... luxury. A house, a good reliable car... friends that don't do drugs... but most importantly, you really can't tell someone you'll love them forever. You might not. Why make such a heavy promise?

Fiona: Marriage isn't really about loving someone forever, it's about security. It's signing, saying- even when I fall out of love with you, I will still be there cause you own half of my stuff

Me: True. I guess I'm like the Calabrian Catholic then.

"If you ask a Protestant from the American Midwest to commit to a dinner date next week, that Protestant, believing that she is the captain of her own destiny, will say, “Thursday night works fine for me.” But if you ask a Catholic from Calabria to make the same commitment, he will only shrug, turn his eyes to God, and ask, “How can any of us know whether we will be free for dinner next Thursday night, given that everything is in God’s hands and none of us can know our fate?”"

Fiona: HAHAHAHA. This is why FB chat should have a like button.

Me: Don't you think it's interesting in the quote that the Protestant from the Midwest is a woman and the Calabrian Catholic is a man?

The Religious-like Symbolism of My Cooking

Being an international has told me a few things. One of them; I love you is only "I LOVE YOU" when it's said in English.

If you're a nice and sociable person, falling in love with you is effortless. I personally bump into love at least twice a year. (That also means two breakups a year). Falling in love is not a big deal. How somebody treats you is.

But this isn't about that children, this is about how I personally communicate my love for you.

Food.

Feeding someone is such a spiritual practice for me, that I could make it religious.

For one, I cannot cook for someone I don't love.
Yes children it's true. If you have eaten the fruits of my culinary love labor, I love you. Not loved, not used to love... Love.
I care for you more than just enjoying your company. I care for your well being. So much so, that my body wants to nourish your body while it's in my presence. So I will go to the stove and make something delicious. And I will give it to you as a symbol of my love for you, and we shall eat from the same pot, and drink from the same juice bottle communion style.

This is a fact. I know you're thinking, damn that's deep. But I really sincerely honest to God can't cook for people I don't love. Something always happens. Too much salt, too much water, no flavor, something burns... nothing works I tell you. And even the people that know me will tell you how long it took them to taste my food. One time a guy had to go and buy special ingredients because he was dying to eat African Food, but I was never cooking when he came around.

Of course there are people who are fed by me who I don't love, indeed, people I barely know, but they just happened to come in the company of someone I do love. So they are fed on behalf of my love for that somebody else.

Why did I write this? Whats the point?
I want to express to people that loving is more than just telling people you love them. I personally take physical care of people I love. For instance, if you're my man or if you're someone I wish was my man, granted you're getting physically adored around me. I'm cooking for you, I'm massaging you, I'm bathing you, I'm fantasizing about washing your feet. I know. It sounds crazy, but it's true. I like making your body, where the amazing spirit that makes me feel amazing resides, feel better. I almost NEVER actually say it, I don't see the point. I literally act under the assumption that your spirit will recognize what my spirit is doing. I live under the order of Love;the Verb. Not Love;the Noun. If I'm loving you, I just show it. I prefer not to mouthly communicate things that needn't words. It means more to me for you to intuitively know that I love you. I'm weird like that.

It's not hard for me to love people, and it's not hard for people to love me
(at least I'd like to think so).
But if you were ever fed by me, then you can definitely consider it a privilege now. Not everybody is fed by me. Let me rephrase, not Anybody is fed by me.

BTW This is not only romantic love I'm talking about. I'm talking about friends, family, and lovers. If I fed you, I did it because I love you and I will forever care for you. It's much more wonderful to be my proton than my electron.

Conversations in Passing: The Person. Capital P.

I had great conversations this weekend. Some revolved around people that you think are your soulmates in your head, but would never openly say it. Only because of the impact they have on you. Another one is about love. I'll separate them like egg whites and yolk.

On That Person.

That Person, is a person you've messed with before, or someone you've always wanted. Someone just outside of your grasp. You want them, like real desire-want. Not lust-want. You want them like if they told you that to have them, you have to walk to Wisconsin, or climb Mulanje mountain, you'd seriously consider doing it. It's beyond physical. Someone who you have seen in all their glory, and lights and bad angles. Someone you can say you "Accept as they are". Someone who has pissed you off before, but when the dust settles, you're that bish from the "House of Flying Daggers" who's crying after killing her lover asking him why he "didn't move? Why didn't you dodge? You knew I didn't really want to kill you! I was just mad." Someone who makes you crazy from wanting them. That Person, if they even HINTED at interest in you... you'd immediately break up with whoever you're with. Like, drop of a hat DUMP. #Noexplanationnecessary.

Everyone has That Person.
Shit, I've been a victim of That Person.

It's interesting knowing your lovers' Person and it's not you. You know it, and they know it. They didn't intend for you to know it, but because you have a Person too - you know the signs and symptoms of a hopelessly-in-want situation. The only person who doesn't know they are that Person, is That Person.

This is when the separation of topics is like egg whites and yolks. This is the bit of white in the yolk and the bit of yolk in the white.

If you were with Your Person, 9 times out of 10 it wouldn't work. For some reason, Persons always come attached with a fucking airline amount of over-weight baggage. This is why this thing blends into soulmates. They've moved your spirit so irrevocably, you think you would still be with them with all the baggage, but you try it, and you FAIL. Nobody can be with their "perfect" person. It's too real. It's too jaw dropping. It's too RAW. No matter what anyone thinks, in reality, Every relationship needs a thick layer of fabrication to coat it to protect it from damage. THAT'S why marriage is hard. It's ALOT of pro-bono acting, and who has the energy?

Meeting and loving your Person will also be an indicator to how much you love someone else. It becomes your temperature gauge. You start saying things to yourself like, "I like you - but if insert name called me right now, would I still be sitting here?" The answer is usually "No." and you proceed in your #non-chalant-about-you ways because #I've-loved-harder and #you're-not-inspiring-me-to. You know when there are true contenders when you think that thought and the answer is Yes. That is when you know like you know the sky is blue and peas are green and chocolate is delicious that You Have Met Someone.

I've experienced a twist of this. I once watched my lover see their Person and react to them. React to them in the only way someone hopelessly-in-want can. By hanging their head, and never shutting up about them - especially to me.
Now, I have a sexual chemistry radar. I can sense sexual energy, I can feel it tingle my skin. I sensed this connection between them, that of course he denies. She's his Person, he's not hers. It was fascinating to witness. Since he's not my Person either. I just took notes. Ladies and Gentlemen, I did not blow my top. I empathized. But I did lose the little I had for him. And you know it's little when you witness with your own two eyeballs something as intense as unfulfilled-desire-that's-not-for-you in your own lovers eyes and you didn't lose a wink of sleep about it. You didn't even change a facebook status over it. You didn't even bother to break up. Yes indeed, you're still fake-frolicking in fields of Lilacs singing "The hiiiiilllls are allllliiive! With the sound of Muuuusiiiiic..."

Whereas, had your lover been your Person, you probably would have been so stabbed you would have ended the show with a dramatic exit to have your heart tended to by the Emergency Heart-Repair Service at the Heartbreak Hotel. Where you lie naked and Doctor Ambrose snaps on a rubber glove on his right hand and puts one finger in your anus, making your chest pop open like the hood of your car. Propping it open with a rib bone at a forty-five degree angle as he pokes around in your chest, and asks you when the last time you had it cleaned was, and you say, "Never." and Ambrose takes out a thin, long and sharp stainless steel instrument and tells you to think about your Person while he shoves it into your aorta. Through the pain you start seeing ghosts of everyone you've ever loved rising from the depths of your beating heart. The deeper he pushes the instrument into your aorta, the more Ghosts of Ex's rise from your heart, and at the end of it all. Ambrose tells you it's good you cleaned your heart, because the pain will go, but the heart is still broken. "Maybe it'll mend itself" He'll say, "Sometimes, they do."

And he'll set the rib bone back. He'll shake his head, won't say a word, and he'll leave.

Dear: The Person That Gave You Your Favorite Memory

I can't choose. I have SO many great memories: I'll just choose a few.

Dad

I remember you coming in from work and coming straight to the living room. Me and Mo would dash to you and hug your legs, then you would pick us up and throw us in the air and catch us three times. Maybe four.

I also remember the first time I saw you and mom kissing.

Every time I think of that, I think of what a poster-family we are.

Mom

My sixth birthday, you threw this BIG party in our back yard. Everybody came. Games EVERYWHERE. There was this moment... I remember a huge bucket of water with floating apples in it, and we had to bite the Apples with no hands. I had just dipped my head in the water and the apples kept sliding from my teeth's grasp. I pulled my head from the bucket laughing and burping from all the swallowed water, with my hair stuck to my forehead. You stood opposite me on the other side of the bucket laughing at me too. Then you dipped your head in the bucket and got an apple on the first try.
I've always thought you were amazing.

Of course, now I realize you had about a 30 year head start with the art of biting apples, and a fully developed jaw to go with it.

- Also, the first time I saw David, was astonishing. I was 7, you had just arrived from the airport from Zimbabwe and D was about 2 weeks old, and he was in a baby blue suede jump suit. I was always scared of holding babies, and I couldn't believe this little thing that had been kicking since cells multiplied and formed legs in the womb, was finally here. Until this day I believe he was the cutest baby I've ever seen in my entire life. Oh, and - He's still kicking.

Mo, Gu, Vu

We had gone to Cicero's party, and Tiko didn't wake up to open the door for us (that player as well) So we drove our Maruti/booty wagon near home, it was 5am - we were all still drunk and we drove up a dead end road next to Kaduya. Parked. Laughed, Gossiped until 7am, and then fell asleep. We were woken up by Mom's calls. Pending Drama.

Mesho

I remember the time you had decided that Kamuzu Academy water was truly detrimental to your well being (I'm laughing as I write this) and you swore off of it, until further notice. So every day for about two weeks, you wouldn't drink anything that didn't come in a sealed bottle until around 4pm - the minute the tuck shop opened. You and I would walk to the tuckshop, Day One; You bought three orange Fanta's, and before fifteen minutes had even passed, you had drank them all. Poor thing. You must have been parched. (I'm laughing really hard right now). Day Five; Fiona buys five orange Fanta's gives three to Thobe and tells her to run as fast as she can, as far as she can, and to hide them in the room somewhere Fiona would NEVER even think of looking. Thobe would almost trip from laughing so hard as she ran, and Fiona would absolutely demand the drinks at prep time (evening homework hours) anyway, then proceed to accuse Thobe of drinking one, because Fiona swore up and down she had given Thobe four orange Fanta's, not three... The thirst was causing delirium. Day 10; Fiona and Thobe are at the tuckshop. Victor has a grape Fanta half drunk and decides to sit next to us for a chat. Victor leaves his drink with us as he goes to socialize with a buddy for a minute. Fiona promptly drinks his grape Fanta down to the last drop. Victor returns and is confused. He starts accusing us of drinking his Fanta. Thobe and Fiona manage to convince him that he in fact, drank his Fanta, and then walked away. Why would anyone drink his drink? What does he take us for?

My tummy hurts from laughing just thinking about that last one.
Sigh. I'll stop here.

Dear: The Last Person I Kissed

I hate that I can barely remember our last kiss.
You're always kissing me.

Which is great because I'm big on kissing.

I'm so big on kissing that I delete numbers over being a bad kisser.

Usually my first kisses are Epic. I always remember the first kiss because I put effort into making them memorable and Holy... but I won't describe our first kiss. Some things are too sacred for blogspot.

I wish I could write a letter to all the best kissers.
That would be nice.

Also, if someone wanted to teach a kissing class, I would donate to them.
That's how real this shit is to me.

Ode to the Homies

Everybody has noted that I'm not as happy and ecstatic as I should be now that I've graduated. The truth is, I'm kind of sad.

I've worked very hard, for a very long time. And now I feel like the woman who went through a 48 hour labor and now is suffering from port-partem depression.
Even my man is kinda wondering what the time is with me?

I have two ideas of the cause of this thing.
1. I'm still working on my website. And its taking longer than anticipated, so I'm frustrated.
2. I don't know. But I do know it has a lot to do with that seems-like-you're-never-going-away-visitor: Loneliness.

So I called my parents and my brother, who I swear are my besties. I talked to Omi and Fiona online, and messaging Mbawaka about the blues. My sister is here because it's her birthday, and my sisters from another mother in Nigeria are coming over, and we're just gonna laugh it out tonight.

It's the most significant time in my life since 2002, and instead of thinking about all the people who I love that can't physically celebrate it with me, I'm gonna be grateful:

1. My dad could afford me an education. There are millions of children and people all around the world who don't have that privilege

2. I have friends. Friends represent family, and I'm grateful Jozmin, Barry, Alindine, Laura, Mo, Ayo + Ola give enough of a shit to check up on me constantly and want to celebrate with me as soon as these muthafucken dollars in my bank account make love and multiply

3. That the internet and cellphones exist. Without them, I wouldn't have even been able to hear my lousy voice on the phone while my parents and David inquire why I sound so sad?

4. That I can and gotdammet I SHOULD be happy.

I really needed my friends this weekend and they all came through. Physically + Digitally. This is what it is when you're a foreigner and you're always homesick... Thank You people very very very much. I like people who sincerely care for me, because I sincerely care for people. There's no more room for sadness now.

Dear: Someone You Want To Give A Second Chance To

Well.

I would looooooooove to give second chances. It's just I don't know how to. If someone is willing to teach me how to, I'm a dedicated and rewarding student. Sometimes I think I put up walls just to see who cares enough to break them down. That number of people dwindles per hairy situation.

Day 21 — Someone You Judged By Their First Impression

I don't know, I usually give people a lot of chances to redeem themselves from iffy first impressions.

But I will give a positive/negative scenario.

POSITIVE: Shout out to Diamond, who I didn't judge on the first impression, but definitely got off on the wrong foot with. Hopefully our future only gets brighter *throws glitter*

NEGATIVE: Shout out to that Douche who was invited to my abode earlier last year and proceeded to press every single one of my buttons (Ugly + Rude). It got to the point that I told everyone to get this ignorant ass motherfucker (those words exactly) the fuck out of my house.
He left.
But not without:
1. Hitting on me first
2. Begging to be my facebook friend
3. Making me shout at him.
*throws shade*

I don't regret judging that guy, and if I could do it all again, I'd hit him with my baseball bat before he even walked into my house - let alone opened his mouth. Matter fact I would have done it upon hearing his footsteps at the old gate of my house. That guy sat in the middle of my kitchen and told me he suspected his cousin was gay, but if he ever openly said he was gay he would dress him up as a woman and drop him off either on the Chicago westside or the deep south side. There will be absolutely no talk of violence and especially violent homophobia in my house. I had to demand that whoever brought him here take him out before I resort to drastic measures. And this was AFTER I discovered he was Rude (on top of being Ugly. Serving two god's. The odasity!)

Dear: The One That Broke Your Heart the Hardest

To: he who used to be referred to as... He Who Shall Not Be Named. But now he shall be named because "the storm is over!" (R.Kelly voice), drumroll please:

Dear Brandon.

My my my, how far I've come.

I used to love the SHIT out of you. Like, open heart, open mind, open body - Love. The. Shit. Out. Of. You. When people asked me about you, I used to say the word; Perfect. How interesting. My complete happiness used to make other couples fight about why they weren't so happy.

Don't get me wrong. You aren't perfect (Hell, nobody is perfect) I saw your faults. All of them. But you know what? For the first time in my 24 years on this planet - I liked someone on the days that I didn't want to like them. So what did I do? I embraced it. And yes, I adored you.

I was so heart broken when we broke up. I think it was the first time in my life I had ever been dumped. You may argue that, "no no no, Thobe. It was you who broke up with me." Or, "it was mutual, remember?" No babes. All I did was say what you had been wanting to say for over 40 days (there's a back story to that number). I just signed the dotted line, I did. The sabotage, the un-epic death of the whole relationship was all you. I never had a single idea of why you wanted to break up with me, other than the usual assumption of - maybe he wants to fuck someone else. Nothing added up. Even now when I read over old entries, I still don't get it. I just followed the bouncing ball and put you out of your apparent misery and did myself a "bitch you'll thank me later" favor.

I had never tried so hard to get over someone. No matter what I did, everything was declining progress. Day in, day out I'd watch my phone - willing it to light up and say it was you. It was the most pathetic time of my life. I went through it all... Confusion, Anger, Rejection, Self-Medication... then Anger again when I went to pick up my things from your house to see gigantic hickeys on your neck. And then Rejection all over again when I saw your new girlfriend. Needless to say, I made a whole story up to get a grip on the level of turmoil happening inside my ribcage. All the while, only publicly losing it Once. On Facebook. For about 5 statuses straight, I shat on you, and your new one. Barry had to send an emergency text telling me to #ceasefire. Then I erased them all. Stood very still. Took a seat, and proceeded to call the heartbreak hotel. How sad is that? It's very sad. Very. Sad. Especially, for a Lady.

It took me three months to let another man touch me.
I don't mean fuck here. I mean touch.
Literally. And anybody who knows me knows THAT is worth noting. My buddies where asking me what was up with my lack of action? Underneath that guise of a smile - I just lied unconvincingly. I'm not the type of girl to call my friends and talk about my problems. I always think I'm boring them. That's what diaries are for.

I never drank so much in my life. And I don't even feel better when I drink.

The man that broke that spell was so... unlike me. It was embarrassing. There was very little wrong with him. He used to cook me dinner after work, lay my bed, give me his car for entire weekends, totally spoil me... to just scratch the surface... pun intended. But he was just transitional. He emotionally took me from the hotel, back home. Where I was comfortable, and where a plethora of ninja's waited for a major massacre attack.

Anyway. Now that I'm good, and I know you're really good. Then all is good. I doubt if any of this is news to you. You may not have KNOWN what I was going through but I think you instinctively knew that I was floored. I for one, never want to go through that shit ever again. Uh uh! No sir.

I promised you excerpts from the diary from The Time:

---- Saturday, September 19, 2009

Depressed. Lost the best boyfriend ever, maybe because he served his purpose. Getting me out of a slump. He wanted out. I should have known, but I chose denial. But I’m not sad. Grown uppest break up ever. I might cry at an unpredictable moment. First relationship I never cheated with. Thoughts everywhere, I wish it ended differently. Wish it ended ultimately. I think I’m going to end up crying. I self medicate with alcohol.

----Monday, September 20, 2009

Damn. This shit hurts. I keep remembering him bringing up silly reasons not to be with me anymore, like Please, just leave. I’m hurt. Everyone knew we were perfect. Of course, why else would I stay with him? Everyone’s waiting for me to breakdown, but like Mariah, I breakdown when nobody’s looking.

----Sunday, December 20, 2009

Isaac came over last night. He had contacted me twice during the week and I blew him off. I called him so he could fuck my lights out, but he came. Saw me painting. We talked on the couch for about 2 hours. He said he was ready to go, but he wouldn’t walk out, so I pecked him, and he kissed my neck – I was so turned on, but since it had been observed that this man is interested in me, I mentally refused to fuck him, although if he seduced me by kissing me in the comfort of my zebra satin sheets, I would not have resisted the temptation. Which he did not. So we did not. He spent the night and did not try to fuck me; he must be seriously considering me. Sweet.

It was 92 days before I let another man touch me.


-Namaste-

Dear: Someone That Pesters Your Mind—good or bad

A few people pester my mind.

Bridget: You pop in alot. Even though I never knew you, but only knew of you. You signify the fact that life can be quickly taken away from me - any day - any time. You are the person I think of every time I don't feel like living and opt for "just being alive, is enough". I think about that moment, that moment when you realize what's happening, and you brace yourself for the pain. Thank You

Oprah: this may sound cliche - but I think about where she came from, and where she is. I think about her spirit. I wonder how someone who had so little can grow to become so generous. I think about her family not even having running water, I think about the abuse she lived through, I think about the baby she lost, I think about college, her first job, and the first time she realized who she is - if she ever did. Thank You

I think about all the people suffering in the world
All the people enjoying themselves
All the people who haven't had sex in years
All the people experiencing orgasms at this exact moment

I think about all the men I've ever fallen in love with, or even was severely interested in (I use the word severe with purpose. Nobody crushes like I crush, ask Lenny Bukkiah) : Mainly I'm wondering if they are happy? I wonder what I learned, I wonder how I could have behaved better.

I think about Future Me the most. The question is; "did I end up getting what I wanted?"

Dear: The Person That I Wish You Could Be

Woah, that's a big one

To you, oh perfect one.

I don't strive to be you, oh perfect one. I aspire to be you. For you have all of my strengths, and you turned all of my weaknesses to my strengths.

I wish I was faithful, like you.

I admire how insensitive you are to disadvantageous situations. I seem to still be getting my leg caught in barbed wires that dig too deep in my flesh for me to just "let go". But never mind that - how did you EVER figure out how to get ANYWHERE on time? No matter how hard I try, I have physical difficulties with waking up, and leaving on schedule.

Yesterday, perfect one, as I was speaking to Kalole about my creative process, I was telling him that I get migranes from worrying that my work isn't good enough. That I will never be as good as I want to be. I told him how un-confident I am about my work, until I get a really good review, or I get paid for it. I just wanted to know Perfect Me, if this is something I can defeat? Or is this something I should accept? - as in, is THIS the diffrentiating element that will take my work from a B to an A* ?

I was just wondering.

Dear: Someone From My Childhood

To my one and only girl squeeze: Fulo.

I remember you crystal clear. I mean, maybe not crystal clear. I was single-digit aged for goodness sakes. I don't remember what you looked like, or what your personality was like. I just remember that I liked you, and I remember who you were to me. I don't remember how it happened the first time, I just remember having serious make out sessions that sometimes ended in intense fully clothed grinding. I never felt guilty or bad (I've never reeeally had a moral compass) even though I knew if we were ever caught, I'd get whipped to my bare flesh. It was my first illicit affair. And it was hot.

Where ever you are, I remember you. And when my sister bumped into you a few years ago, and you told her to tell me you said "Hie" you should have seen my face. My sister doesn't know - you see. The only way she'll know is if she reads this hahaha! #confessionsession

Anyway. Even though I don't do girls - you are evidence that I'm capable of doing girls. And even though we were hot, and had I "known" exactly "what to do with it" I probably would have done it - I'm not interested in pursuing vagina. Is that strange?

-brief gay moment - Maybe I'm one of those people that are more attracted to people who are attractive to me. If I ever have another female episode, I'll dissect this thought, because that will be my evidence -end gay moment-

I hope you're good, well, and happy.

Gabi

Dear: Person that is not in my state or country

I tired of writing to them. They have three letters already dammet! So-I'm writing to someone not on this planet. Beat that!

Dear Alien.


No! not immigrant. I'm talking UFO, ET and them.

I don't believe in you. You may exist, but I don't think your existence has any direct effect on me.

I'm tired of hearing boys say they think they met an Alien (like, for reals.) I can't take it anymore.

It's too silly.

Dear: The Person I Miss The Most

Is it just me or are these letter titles merging into the same shit?

I feel like I've written the same thing twice already, and I don't wanna do it thrice. I have the same answer's for the following:

"Someone you don’t talk to as much as you’d like to, Someone you’ve drifted away from
The person you miss the most"

So let's do this; in a nutshell: I miss everyone who has seen me grow. I miss you especially Omalha. I miss vegging out in your crib with your hilarious family and getting into total nonsense, and I miss our mischief counterpart - Sinnita.


Damn. We had some muthafucken good tims, G

Dear: Someone I've Drifted Away From

I don't know who to name
since this is ALOT of people around the Globe.

I've been pretty low over the past few days. I'm getting homesick even more frequently than usual. I keep thinking of everyone who I'd love to hang out with again, but I can't. After reading my statuses from a Year back, I realized my particular facebook is a virtual graveyard. Many people have been deleted from my life. Many people. Could I say I drifted away from them? Or did I distance myself from them?

When I'm physically away from people - it's hard for me to keep in touch. I once took a test, something about how to communicate to particular personalities - and mine came out on physical contact. I equate care to physical presence, and love to physical contact. I thought about it. I wondered why I don't call my best mates just to chat? Starting from Barry who lives in the next zipcode to Omalha who's across the world? Or why I never fought for one of the greatest loves of my life during a time of what I like to call, Sexodus? Or why people who I never spoke to previously suddenly adopt me as their best friend only after a few outings? Or why I vowed off of LDR's a long time ago - despite my adoration of a very specific and epically epic character in my heart of hearts - whatever and wherever that is?

I'm more face to face. I only take friendships seriously (I use the term loosely) when we're in the same place, and we take initiative to hang out and indulge in debauchery.

I prefer men who question the authority I have over myself by coming to my door uninvited and demanding an explanation!

I like being alive and when I'm having a life I don't entertain anything else (like 30 Day letter challenges)

That being said, I've drifted apart from all of my friends who I can't see, and I haven't seen. I miss you guys alot. And there's only so much ground facebook can cover. Just wait until he have holographs!

kisses,

Drajai, Ndachi Pussnana, Nwaj, Fridge Free Margarine, Gwabi, Thobenator, ... and all my other nicknames :) I'll add them as I come to them.

Homage to Edna

So, it's my maker's birthday today.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMY!!!

I have to call her. If I could, I would make her the thobekile designed card to likelyfly the homemade ones I made as a bambino, and I would write this:

"I miss the way you smell, and the way you make me feel better by simply Being.
The way you hold me when you know I'm falling apart.
The way food tastes better for the simple fact that you made it.
I used to think I was imagining things, but no!
Food literally tastes better because you made it. I'd taste flavors like the skinny chef in Ratatouille.
I didn't know it then, but this was to be my body's way
of telling me that I love someone.
When I love someone, I even see them with a warm light around them in my dreams.
It touches my heart to know how you love mom,
for yours is not an extroverted love
It's introverted. You feel that shit deep in your soul.
Every time I'm sick - I think of you. Because the thought of you makes me feel better
I'm not sure what went on when I was living inside you for those nine months,
but we have a phenomenal mommy/baby thing going on.
When I was sick with:
Malaria
Typhoid
Bilharzia
Conjunctivitis
Hernia
When I broke my limbs
When I got attacked by bird's nest fleas
When wasps stung me
When I was jumped by two boys
When I almost drowned
When I got chitedze
When I was afraid to learn how to swim
When I saw you heal spotty
And many more things...

You took care of me.

I don't take that for granted. I associate you with healing powers Mom. I think you're SUPER. Like literally, flying with a cape. When I get sick, it's your presence. I used to cry for you when I thought I was dying, and you would come and laugh at me - saying I'm a baby at heart. And it reveals itself when I think I'm dying. I giggle about this now, because I never said I thought I would die but you could always see it in my eyes. Then I'd weakly ask for a Fanta. Or a burger. You know, those are privileges where we live.

I love you, Mom.
I appreciate you, Mom.
I miss you, Mom.
I'm crying as I write this, Mom.
You Are The Best.
Even when we get on each other's nerves, you are precious about it.
I still can't believe how seriously you take me as a grown up.
I miss being mema'd by you around the house
(you know that was really hard for me to give up)

Happy Birthday, you are loved.

Ninkumpoop number:2"
If anyone see's her today, kiss her cheek for me and tell her it's from Gabi.

Dear: Someone I Wish Could Forgive Me

oh, Uncle Paul

I'm grateful for everything you've been to me, ever done for me. You do not go unappreciated and unpedestaled. But, let's have a heart to heart right here right now sir, I have a bone to pick with you.

When I had just arrived, when I was young and seventeen, you sat me down and proceeded to say some very cruel things to me. Do you remember? Unconscious things. I laughed - as I usually do when I'm upset - and talked it out with Fiona. The #shade never ends in South Bend, it's why I had to leave. Otherwise, I probably would have swallowed one pill too many and left an anonymous note to God scribbled "#tryagain" on it. Now I know that it was just your dissatisfaction with your own life manifesting itself and projecting onto me, but I gotta tell you - if I'm 24 now and I still remember these random rants from you to me - you have solid evidence that all I did was take your words and deposit them into my mental bank. Which keeps files for undisclosed amounts of time. Now that I've said that - you have your explanation of why I act the way I do towards you. You now will be aware of why one day we'll be laughing on the phone, and the next I don't want to come and see you. No matter what I tell anyone, if I was truly hurt by something - there will be blood. Here's my confession session to you Paul.

I'm sorry for not always picking up your calls.
I'm sorry for even thinking you deserved what you got regarding that big thing in your life that everybody knows about.
I'm sorry for still punishing you.
I'm sorry for thinking you're needy, when in fact, you're not needy at all.

I'm especially sorry for my latest atrocity. By the time I called you, it was too late. I don't blame you for never picking up. It was to be the first time out of two incidents this year someone wasn't picking up my calls, but from you sir - it pinched in a different way.

I felt terrible. Even though I wouldn't have done it differently, still. It's not that I regret not showing up - I just regret not showing you more sympathy. More concern to how you are. How you have been. It was honestly the very LEAST I could have done. But, I didn't do it.

This is not how I truly am, it's not how I was raised. It's just how I get when there's something inside of me regarding a particular person that I have not fully dealt with or processed.

I still feel bad. I secretly hope you've forgotten about it so I don't have to admit it to you face to face and pay any more homage than I already have.

I'm sorry Uncle, and I hope you find it in you to forgive me. Since I obviously have not forgiven myself.

Sincerely,

"The one that looks exactly like her Dad"

Dear: The Person That Caused Me The Most Pain

Mr. Robert Wilson,

You take the cake. Hands Down.

It's because of you, sir - that I know I'm capable of forgiveness. But that degree of pain doesn't leave without war scars. Your tentacles left their marks everywhere, and I'm saddened by what I think of people now. You couldn't have been any worse, really. Especially considering the fact that I was a girl, and you were a man. Whatever demons reside in you that cause you to hurt people the way you do will undeniably eat your soul alive, sir.

And I know someone is going to say something like, "it all happens for a reason." << this is just some of the bullshit people tell each other to make each other feel better. Nothing has meaning, the only meaning to anything is the meaning you give it. That entire two years, sir - that you spent deciphering new ways of destroying my spirit - were a complete waste of time but a true testament of the strength I never knew I had, and my resilience. The year of healing that followed was interesting. No need to write a book. This blog/letter is quite enough.

I know what you're thinking, but I don't hate you. Although I will admit to once courting hatred. You were so high up in my j'ai deteste list, sir. Right up there with the men that sexually harassed me. I had to burn all the diary entries I had from our entire relationship, that's how pure my desire to erase you was. I literally removed all evidence that you had ever existed.

Alas, all I can say now is, I'm glad I'm more Christ-like than I care to admit. And even that is mostly due to my only recently faltering pride, it had nothing to do with "being Christian". I'm not a good "Christian" at all, I just try to be a good person. I'm glad I survived you. The first time I realized I had gone months without even thinking of you, I felt the way I felt when I survived Bilharzia and Typhoid and my near fatal relationship with Hernia... I suffered for your love. I mean, Really Suffered. Now as a side effect, very little bullshit gets past me, and I've never had less patience with silly people. I don't think I have a shred of precious naivete left.

Amen to the mystical healing powers that have now brought me to a space that allows me to wish you well. To even accommodate you in my over-concerned-with-other-peoples-happiness heart. To bless you and your future wife, and your friends, and your children. To be truly Fine with you, and to have totally forgiven you for your demonic blood thirst. God Bless you sir, and be well.

Ms. Nthinda

Dear: A Deceased Person I Wish I Could Talk To.

I should have seen this before I wrote to Jesus, but no crying over spilled milk here.

So I'm going to write to someone who's dead that I wish I could talk to.

Dear Young Me

I keep hoping one day... I'll see a flash of you in my eyes. I still can't believe you're gone - no matter how many ways I try to revive you - it's no use. I keep your ashes in a vase buried inside of the Earth. You were murdered slowly in cold blood. We still miss you my dear, you'd be so proud of us dear, I have forgiven your murderer. Remember how hard it was for you to forgive someone?

You used to be so fascinated by nature and animals. It was only right for you to be born in Africa. You'd be sad to know how afraid I am of Animals now, Gabi. They're Always in my nightmares. Why? They're so unpredictable. Like crazy people. Is it coincidence that every person I'm close to tells me I'm unpredictable? Is it like looking at myself then? With these Beasts in my Nightmares? Nobody knows like I know that I am my greatest enemy. I wouldn't be surprised if that was indeed the case.

Gabi, I miss your surface confidence. I am only a shadow of your fashion expeditions. We were so materially inclined back then, weren't we? That's how you would express yourself. Since you didn't swear, and you kept your virginity, you weren't allowed to go out at night and you lived under Gray and Edna's roof. You lived vicariously through fabric. Child, you were onto something. Your love of clothes has been unequally yoked with my love of sex.

How will you ever forgive me? I know! Over a slice of wonderful chocolate cake.

I know I'm not anywhere close to what you wanted me to be by now. I've done nothing the way you would have done it - you were so determined to have your way. But I've had to become more flexible, Cherub. Maybe that is why we came here. To learn how to be flexible and alive - not rigid and iron clad. I'm two years behind schedule Choux Choux. Maybe something phenomenal was supposed to happen to you this way, I don't know.

I really wish we didn't destroy our old diaries babes. Even though I know why you did it. To me, even though I'm publishing my diary one day - reading diaries without permission is psychological rape. You're taking the most intimate thing about someone and exploiting it for your own violent need to "own" something that will never be yours to own. You're snatching someone's private-ness away from them, like reading someone's mind. Many people have read our diaries without permission - and maybe that is why I had to evolve into an extrovert - who speaks boldly, without blinking (almost to her death one time, but I'll tell that tale another day) and with as many "fucks" and "shits" as possible. Nobody will ever feel like they got something for nothing from me, and your legacy - ever again. I do miss your uncanny ability to disappear in a crowd. I miss you. and sometimes, I really

need you.

Your Disillusioned Older Self.

Dear Someone I Don't Talk To As Much As I'd Like To

AH. FRIENDS.

I'm so bad at keeping in touch. So here's one for Each and Every one of you. There are so many. Dear Malawian ninjas, American ninjas, Relatives and Sensei's.

I'M SO SORRY I AM A SOCIALLY INEPT TWAT.

IT'S NOT THAT I DON'T LOVE YOU.

I LOVE YOU.

I JUST MANAGE TO NOT LIKE TALKING ON THE PHONE, OR MANAGING RELATIONSHIPS PERIOD.

IT'S NOT PERSONAL

I'M JUST LIVE. I WOULD RATHER SEE YOU, SMELL YOU, COOK FOR YOU, EXPERIENCE YOU. FORGIVE ME IF I'VE EVER MADE YOU FEEL LESS THAN 100% INFLUENTIAL TO MY EXISTENCE. DON'T BE SO ANGRY WITH ME THAT YOU CANNOT ACCEPT THIS PART OF ME. PUT ME DOWN AS ONE OF THE PEOPLE THAT GIVES A SHIT WHEN SOMETHING HORRIBLE OR SOMETHING TOTALLY AWWWWWWWWWWWESOME HAPPENS. ASK ANYONE, I SWEAR.

I'd just like to give a personal shout out to my Uncle, for whom I am still suffering from guilt for. I am so sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I am so sorry. Somehow I know you might forgive me but I know you will never forget what I did. You might be slightly glad to know that I pay for my shit in small ways everyday, like a daily payment to my overdue bad karma. For instance, I miss my on-time bus almost every morning. It may sound silly to you but in this weather - it's not even cute.

And you know how much I like being cute and shit.


:)

Dear Someone I Wish I Could Meet

Dear Jesus.

Look here - there was no clarification if this person is dead or alive.

Every time I tell people I want to meet you, they think it's uber-christian - until I start naming the reasons why. I go from sweetheart to demon. Chiiiile.

I not only want to know what you look like...

Okay side-note.
I don't want to know what he looks like for "racial" reasons. I won't lie, once upon a time I was curious. But now, I just want to put a face to the legend. It's like hearing about your father and God Forbid, he is dead or just plain old *missing*... You just want to know what the dude looks like.

Okay so back on our scheduled programme, I not only want to know what you look like - I wanna know a thousand things. I don't feel like getting into religious conversations over this blog- so please don't throw shade here. A bish is tryna be REAL. So less be real. I wanna know your story from first person perspective. NO OFFENSE to all the Bible stans, but all of that is just hear-say. Don't shoot verses at me either, I'm a pastor's kid and I'll get it in if I have to, no toothpicks. In fact the bible books that describe you reaffirm my belief in not taking second hand stories seriously. Every body sees everything differently. It's an inside joke at the police force that when you ask all eye witnesses what happened, you'll get different versions of the same stuff. I mean, for someone to give the World an accurate depiction of yours truly, they'd have to scour my diary, my facebook, my twitter, my friends, my lovers, and my family. All we got from you were your disciples hindsight - you can't expect me to believe that you are the guy (100%) that only the bible says you are. Especially since the bible itself has been edited so many times, and continues to be edited. Suspiciously. (ahem, shout out to King James.)

But I don't want to meet you to grill you. I want to have lunch with you and hang out. I wanna talk. I KNOW you know how much I like tawkin'.... (shawty snappin!). I want to know you for real real. Not through third party folk tales.

Consider it.

Yours Truly (okay maybe not "truly", but my heart is in the right place. Might be. Actually... Okay - I'm done!"

I love you.

Dear Internet Friend.

I don't have one. :\

I can't even make one up.

My Relationship with Love

I was sitting in the bus today and thinking. Really thinking.

I found some things out

I'm a control freak. I'll do anything to be in control.

Why?

Because when I'm in control, I can better predict my behavior and set myself up for emotional success. *PING*

What's Love got to do with it?

Love makes me feel crazy. I've always associated Love with mindlessness. It didn't help when the first major relationship I was in was with the King of Asswipes.

Oh, here we go.

When I start liking something, I get over excited and start making all the wrong decisions.

So just do the opposite

Tried that. Useless. *slaps head*

So what are you saying? When you're in a great relationship you're not in love?

No. I am in fond. In deep deeeep Fond.

Dear Ex Beaux

-Intro-

Boy: I don't understand why you couldn't just tell me

Girl: Why would I tell you? What could you have done except make it worse?

Boy: I was confused.

Girl: what do you want from me?

Boy: I'm not sure.

Girl: And that there is the problem, you see? You know why? Because I want your soul. I want your beating heart served on a platter given to me, and then I want you to take it from the platter and put it in the palm of my hand.

So if I had called you to discuss this, what exactly were you going to say to me?

-Exit-

The probability you'll read this? Slim to none.
As I said, I'm beating around the bush here. Where I stand with you is like the merchant who had an appointment in Samarra, which I have copied and pasted below, but the moral of my story with you is as follows;

"Sometimes you meet your destiny on the road you took to avoid it."

Enjoy.

Appointment in Samarrah:

"There was a merchant in Bagdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, “Master, just now when I was in the marketplace I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was Death that jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture, now, lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate. I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me.”
The merchant lent him his horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went.

Then the merchant went down to the marketplace and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said, “Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning? That was not a threatening gesture”, I said, “it was only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Bagdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.”

-End Story-

Girl: Isn't it obvious?

Dear Stranger

I like strangers.
I'm glad we got off on the cute foot. *shaking hands*

First off, you will notice that my face is not friendly. Don't fret. I am the pink care-bear trapped in a meanie's facial expressions. Also, I don't judge people from first expressions. I judge them on the third impression. Therefore at least, if one of us initially fucks up - there is a grace window to save face. Stranger, I love home made food and wine drinking. If we meet in these wonderful settings, we'll be friends forever I bet. I'm partial to meeting you in debauchery filled environments, but that doesn't mean I'm an alcoholic :) So I will refuse to this every single weekend. Oh yes, I must mention - if you are an educated, fit, tall and handsome man - then excuse me in advance for my inappropriate behavior. Because I may not be your type - but you're certainly mine.

You have been warned.

Stranger, please know that if you are rude - then you're the exception to the 3rd impression rule. I shall cancel you immediately (without further adieu). I can't stand rude people. While we're on this subject, if you are rude AND ugly, then stop reading this and forget we ever met. But let me leave you with this oh Rude AND Ugly one, choose one God. You can't serve two. So what's it gonna be? Will you be rude? or will you be ugly?

Stranger, I'm a bit of a geek. If you don't want to hear me drone on and on and on about something, don't you dare mention African Politics, The (w)rapper Nelly, Keri Hilson's new video, or Raheem Devaughns (did I spell that right?) video.

If you happen to end up getting a crush on me, then definitely don't ignore my birthday or valentines day. And I'm not just talking about a phone call here Stranger, if you want me to remember you - you have to stand out. I highly recommend sending me flowers, or exotic fruits all year round, and something like a cupcake or lunch date for my birthday/valentines. I'd take this advice while I can Stranger, because if I get rich - that golden piece of advice will be replaced with things like a weekend in Greece. Getting your foot in the door while you can is imperative.

Enough about men. See how easily distracted I get? Well, it's not my fault. No, seriously. It's just that - I am very fond of people. I want to help them, even when they don't want to help themselves. Even when I don't want to help myself. There is fine print with this though... as they say, the Headline giveth, the fine print taketh away. We shall talk more about this. If you read these letters, you'll get an idea.

You'll also find that I love being alone. I can't explain this one. When I was growing up, I was NEVER alone. But now, I don't take the privilege lightly. There's nothing better to me than coming home to myself.

Oh yeah, Stranger, try not to take advantage of me.

I told you we'd be friends ;)

Dear Dreams

How do I begin?

I've been waiting so God damn long to meet you, to shake your hand. I've been tirelessly stalking you ever since I was - no lie - like, 5 years old. I see you in my head, I smell you. I can't even dream of you because I can't even imagine what you're like to experience in reality. I see you in my fucking brain, G. I just want to fucking touch you, just to know what it tastes like, to do exactly what I had always wanted to do. To be Fulfilled. You wouldn't believe how many books I've read, how many seminars I've gone to, how much time and energy I have spent trying to live up to what people say are your expectations of me. They better be right because if I end up rudely discovering that NOTHING I wanted came to frutition - I'm killing myself and sending a request to God for a rematch. That's how Real this shit it. Let me tell you...

The day I realize that you are right here. In my bed. Under my thumb (no doubt handcuffed to my head board) You will be my bitch.

Who's your Daddy now?