Prayers

Dear you,

I am writing to you today to let you know that I really need your prayers for the coming time, how much time exactly? You just keep me in your prayers please. Nothing is certain. Nothing is for sure.

These next few months are going to be very decisive for me.

Yours faithfully and sincerely,
N.

Characters of the Past

Dear you,

Do you think it possible to love someone whom you knew, but is now a totally different person? Do you think you'd be in love with the character of the past? Or the idea of the character of now?

Tell me.

Yours faithfully and sincerely,
N.

Half a Life

Dear you,

Do you ever get this feeling that you're living half a life? Everything is cut in half. When you smile, you're smiling but the corner of our lips is sad, when you're crying, you cry but know that everything's going to be okay, when you hate, something inside of you fights back to not hold grudge and let go, and when you love, God when you're in love, you're just too scared, too scared to lose, too scared to stay, too scared to caress, to hold on, and way too, too scared to let go.

All your emotions are halved in two opposite sides. No wonder you're always feeling more blank than emotional. No wonder you don't care too much about anything nor entirely uninterested in something. You're living and yet you're somehow asleep, dead from the inside.

Do you live half a life? Please tell me. Console me. Am I the only half life I know?

Write to me, please.


Yours faithfully and sincerely,
N.

It Demands to Be Felt

Dear you,

I have come from a very lonely place. I do not know what's stronger than lonely; lonesome? Solitary? You name it. I live in a world where you're surrounded by so many people, yet you feel on your own more than ever, every single day of your life. No exaggerations. No bullshit. No lies. This is the truth.

And here is some more bold truths.

I don't know if I've ever told you before, but I am a member of a big family (like eight members in total), living in one medium-spaced apartment where privacy is not always an option, sometimes rarely is. I, however, grew up to be lonelier than most people who have a family of three or four; I escape to some corner that no one cares to see whenever I get the chance to.
Now I want you to imagine this: lots of people in one place, a lonely person in a corner all the time, people talking there and isolation is here, where would you want to be? Please consider that whenever people are there, clashes and misunderstandings and disagreements always arise.

No, forget this. We've taken it to the very personal level. Let's be more general now.

I'll tell you about pain. Pain is so magical. Yes, magical. It can linger for years and years inside of you, and it can eat at you without you noticing at all, like a tumor that you never notice grows. Pain is felt only when it aggravates, but it's always there. It's like the oxygen we breathe, and like the joy in life; it is always there. You just have to find it inside, look for it, and what comes next is up to you. You can dwell, for as long as you want, and you can let go. But hey, my advice is, dwell, fight it and let it fight you back. Consume it, and let it consume you. You know what? exhaust it and drain it. But don't leave a fight in the middle. Let it deem you depressed, diagnose you with severe disorders like chronic depression. Just make sure you get out, and here is where hope comes.
But pain, pain demands to be felt so much more than you think. It demands to dwell there and stay for a while, a while longer, and for as long as you'll be okay to fight it. Pain is everything, and it is nothing. It is feelings like pain that I am grateful for in my life, because when there is pain I know I am somehow alive. And sometimes I slightly enjoy it and imagine that it's just a movie, a fictional scene that will go away with its drama; I just have to keep my head out of the water.

Pain demands to be felt, so you can demand to be left. Alone.

Loneliness. Pain. Exhaustion. You. Forgive me. I love you.

Yours faithfully and sincerely,
N.

Anger Is Like Love

Dear you,

Hi, I do hope you are doing great today, because why not? Let's be sarcastic for a living, and as long as we have that, we can be great, no?
So, let me tell you about anger. Let me tell you about how it can creep up inside you and consume you (like the song says). So, what is anger? How do you define it? I'll tell you; anger is a foggy air that comes in between your sanity and insanity, between you being wise and you being stupid. Anger is a temporary feeling that has a permanent effect if you react stupidly enough. Anger is blind, just like love. Ironic huh?
And it can be a result of something so trivial, yet it could be just an accumulation of so many bottled up feelings of frustration, disappointment, and pain. Anger is so many emotions at once. It's crazy.

Now, me. Allow me to be a little bit self-centered here, my love, because after all these are my letters, to you, about me. I do not know how to deal with anger. The good part is, I do know that it makes you blind and attacks your brain and sane thinking with a fog that makes it so hard to see. But during an episode of rage (from inside of me) I have no idea how to react in a good way, in order not to make things worse for both of us (whoever that other person might be). I don't. I unseal my lips as if I'm gonna say something but then hold back, because, fear again consumes me more than ever. I shut down all my emotions at the same time whenever anger attacks me with its episodes. Nonetheless, I go back to wondering if I should've said so much more, out loud, rather than just a sigh and unsealed lips.

Anger, my friend, is a dangerous thing, like love, and like hope.

Now this letter is only a prelude to what's coming next. Don't worry; there will be no wave of rage, just a few heart-to-heart words in letters that will, again, only be addressed to you. Only you, my love.

Yours faithfully and sincerely,
N.

The Title

Dear you,

Entry II. Did you really think I'll be telling you whole truths? That's the beauty of life; everything we tell to each other  is just half truths, and sometimes even white lies.

So try to believe me.

Yours faithfully and sincerely,
N.

The First Words

Dear you,

To you, and only you; you who strive to understand me with words, while knowing that only silence works with me, you who know that my silence makes my words so devoid of life, of breaths, of everything, that they simply mean nothing.

I will dedicate these entries to you, and even though you may not know me, get to meet me, or even see me as I am, as I truly am and truly deserve to be, you will be here with me, right on the road to being, not me, but just..someone I can stand being with. I write this all to you in hopes that one day, soon or too far away, you will know that you are not alone in this universe, that someone, somewhere, somehow dives as deep as you do, even when they're completely out of their own depth. It is Ok; or at least I do believe and think it will be, someday, for both of us, even if we stay this far away. Knowing I had you in the first place is enough, will be enough.

Thank you.

Now as I start telling you my story, I must introduce you to some oriental music for the thrill of this ride. Do listen to some; music in the background always gives a dramatic sense to words, scenes, conversations, and feelings.

Let me just say that my name is N, and that I have a very tough fight with words every day of my life. I do talk, but I'm an extroverted introvert, and if you don't know what that means, just imagine from the sound of it. I have my own people around me, but I'm also happy so many times to just shut the whole world and watch something unreal, so I can escape everything, even my family (well, specifically my family), to live in a fictional character, or inside a drama show, because isn't real life enough of a drama to lead us all to escape to something that is at least not real? Yeah.

But let me tell you something of utmost importance about me; I do not do surprises, and I sure as hell do not appreciate them. I may look and sound calm, and this is because I hate to sound too surprised or excited, and I hate to react in ways I shouldn't. I hate reactions and I hate surprises. This is probably why I hardly get impressed with anything. Some people wish they can kill me during my long pauses of 'unimpressed'; and it is why I am telling you this, so that you won't kill me when, or shall I say if, we meet up someday. Nothing surprises me in this world; every evil act or devilish shit (excuse my language, but I am not sorry) is just another 'whatever' to me or 'I kind of saw it coming so why bother.' 

I do not know, however, if this is the same reason why I do not get impressed easily. Is it because human beings, generally speaking, lack the creativity to impress? Or is it because I am such an arrogant snob who refuses to feed people's egos? Perhaps. It doesn't matter.

Now listen to me, from this moment on, try to get me right, or wrong, but just try to get me, at least so I don't feel lonesome and down as I feel now. Please do not be upset if I only write you in moments of downheartedness, or even in another language (my mother tongue is Arabic by the way); it is only because I tend to write about depression more than I write about happiness, and isn't this what most prize-winning authors master at?

I'll talk about anger, depression, disappointment, frustration, pain, failure, even suicide. I'll tell you about everything that could make you feel sorry for me, but it'll only be because I cannot talk to anyone about it but you. You. Because I know you'd understand how everybody's who they really are when they write words that no one would care to read, or talk when there is no one there to listen, or sing when there is no one there to listen to their awful voice.

But I do want honesty in return; I want something in return. Doesn't matter what. Just give me something. Please do. Even a violin string so I can bow.

Yours faithfully and sincerely,

N.