Chances are you’re surprised I am writing to you this way. I cannot blame you for that in fact it is the price I vowed to pay. See, today is one of those times I do some soul searching. I have been looking at our friendship, slowly it is breaking. The connection of our inner souls is mishandled by events that are tearing us apart. It is therefore necessary that I speak to you from the heart. I miss you a lot. I know the actions may state otherwise but trust me it is true. On most occasions I get this irresistible urge to grab you and talk with a line or two. This is because you are the only one, who understands me. Only you guides me from a wrong place to where I want to be. Abruptly of course an alteration of thoughts occurs and realise you are nothing but manmade stationery with lines were my pen falls and creates something. I only believe you understand me just because I want you to. You don’t speak and never will. Therefore am I insane that I cannot do without you? You don’t speak, not that you are dumb, stupid or patient but because that is not your purpose in this whole equation. Your purpose is to listen and record, not utter any word while I pour out my heart. And I respect you for that, you are quite smart. Believe me I know there is nothing more sympathetically unpleasant than that in this lot. Well, at least to me there is not. Last night, while I lay awake in bed thoughts about entirely everything you could fathom, influenced me to toss and turn from side to side, switch top to bottom. Initially I had thought the outdoor noise caused my insomnia of these past two nights, but now I think different. I cannot even blame the lights. If the sleep is in you, you can sleep heavenly all you want no matter what noise surrounds you. Believe me I know, I am so fond of sleeping such that there is nothing I cannot sleep through. So when I found no sleep, I knew it had to be me. Yes, me and my thoughts. This broken bedroom stereo slightly adds to the faults, the problems, but like I said, just slightly. It is with what I have already told you that I believe you have discerned brightly. I believe you are not filled with wonder over what lies in those same thoughts that are snatching the sleep right under my two hawk eyes. I know I have spoken a lot of the times about the things that cause me pain. You listened and understood but it will not hurt for you to listen again. Firstly, I should begin by talking about my mother before talking about the food because she never seems to stop being the cause of most of my low moods. Sometimes I love her, very much in fact, but mostly I hate her. I hate her so irrefutably that I seek for the man under to take her. I have these thoughts in my head that I know I should never say. I cannot see myself derailing from the feeling of making her suffer like my father did the other day. I want her to feel the pain she causes me to eat her up inside there until only the outside – the shell that is, is all that is left hanging in the air. But these are just thoughts escaping from an upset mind, because sometimes she’s nice and real. The best woman I know and probably ever will. I love her when she’s being nice (though she’s only this way when she is trying to win me over). Take yesterday for instance, she sought to unite us, to bring us closer. So she took us to a certain Christian concert, everything there was fun and time well spent, except I was hungry and she had stopped me from eating before we left home saying she would buy food at the event. “We will be late,” she had said. But she only bought us soft drinks. I mean you can actually bear with me on this, but a person cannot spend a night on a soft drink, it’s unheard of. Upon seeing how mad I was all through the concert she started being nice. Even when we were getting back home around 3 in the morning, she kissed me on the cheek twice. Offering things she knows I love things that get me. (I don’t even know how she knows what I love when she obviously does not understand me). Well I refused her tricks that time. I saw through her motives as lame. See, my problem with her is not really on how she treats me but how much better she treats them. She regards those two brats better than me without giving any two ngwees about it. Is there something wrong with me perhaps, I strongly doubt it. The only thing is that I do not approve of her company anymore. Those two women do not mean well at all. I am tired of relentless queer eyes being thrown at me every time I walk into the room, sharp and stable, every time I wake up late, every time I watch TV with my feet on the table, very time I eat at times that suit me or maybe every time a female friend visits (just visits by the way). My father does not care so why should they? I hate these people, this place. I really do, and every time I am alone I wish I forever abhor the disgrace. And the more I sit staring at this white ceiling, these dusty floors, and cracked walls. The more agitated I become because I do not see myself as a part of this dis-organised household.
(My Intellect’s Loud And Noisy-MILAN)