Dear Emeso Pius
First things first: I like you. By likeness, I don’t intend to convey a fleeting acknowledgement of our common humanity. Nope. By likeness, I mean accepting a genuine attraction based on nothing, but shared moments of naked communion. Maybe I should say ‘I love you’. But that’s too weighty, too burdensome, too patronizing. And of course, the thrust of this open letter is to convince you of love; my love. So why should I try to ping when I don’t have BIS?
You see, sometimes, I wish I was a good poet. I wish I was so good with words that I could paint as a damn good painter does. Then I would write you a poem. I would pontificate on your round jolly face, which defies the conventions of oval beauty. I would play with the texture of your fair skin, and represent it as glittering gold, shining even in the darkest days. Sometimes, I wish I had a musical voice, like that of Bebe or Cece. I wish I could draw my voice so long and minutes would stroll by, and I won’t lose my breath and have to take air in deep gasps. Then I would write you songs; cool songs, slow songs, sad songs; and we would hold hands in Dance Studio, and our sweaty bodies would move together, in controlled spurts of bliss and then, rapturous release.
But Heaven has seen my heart, and has not granted my wishes. I write bad poems. And the judges at Project Fame would boo and curse if I stood before them. Oh! How much I have prayed and fasted and waited for these wishes to be granted; but Heaven is steadfast, resolute and dogmatic. Heaven says no. Heaven has left me incapable of sentimental expression, and has instead given me a burden of physical brains and mental bones.
Dear Emmy, I can’t write you poems or compose songs for you. What I have are words on blank surfaces. Words that I hope can come alive and spring from its blank surfaces and hop into your heart. Words that I hope would convince you how much I like your pretty, smiling face, and your persistent, I-no-go-gree disposition towards life’s brick walls. Some of these words include that you should not be bogged down by the past. You should not rewind memories and make them templates for your future. We all make mistakes; we’ve all been stupid and dumb and made idiotic choices. The difference between the great and the horrible is that while one learnt from bad choices, the other dwelt in them.
As you well know, we have ten new courses to read within two weeks. So I don’t really have much time to write out everything on my mind. But always remember that life’s finest things always come to those who work and wait, to those who love and give, to those who are not afraid to come out of darkness and embrace the light; to those who keep believing, even in grim times.
Now I feel I can say this: I love you.
From a friend who wants you to start to think.