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.