A Letter To My Friend Out of The Blue

Dear Friend,

I am writing this brief letter to you to check and ask about how you are faring. I would have said, I’m fine too. But I will prefer the wholesomeness of saying, ‘I am alive.’ Because, let me be honest with you, it’s been a hell of a journey punctuated by mixed emotions. I assume you haven’t been checking through my writings lately because I miss your insightful comments as well as your buttressing posts. I understand how occupying this new phase can be. I hope this phase, with its siphoning craze and fledging busyness, hasn’t drained your flair for art and reading to a trickle. Earlier today, I was writing an essay, and during the process, I felt tired from within. This kind of tiredness is different; it’s the one that you experience when you’re somewhere in between depression and anxiety.

I stared at the screen and realized instantly that the kind of tiredness we usually feel after stressing our bodies is quite better and preferable. I suppose nowadays, I work my mind more than I do my body?—maybe both even. The unremitting urge and desire for better tomorrow are swiftly consuming the essence of today. The boredom is painful and it’s eating away the soul of my soul and guttering my flame of enthusiasm.

My Friend, are you feeling the same? Do you also get unnerved by the flying kites of tragic news and the need for occasional extemporaneous speech about how hard you are trying? What about your siblings? Do they still maintain the queue? Their requests?—?hope it’s not too presumptuous, or is it killing you?

I also mean to ask if you miss being flippant about things? I recalled earlier how we cracked jokes about things?—?our noisy arguments, which usually spiraled into cackles?—?which have now sank into furtive sighs and silence. Sometimes, I lie in impassive hopelessness, feeding my heart the last turn of light I could muster. Is it the same over there?

These are the periods that beckon a person to a long-ago room where mirthful memories lie. Now I wish for the day of childhood innocence and a natural escape from life’s stern corrective cudgel. I can’t even evade the consequences of my actions again?—?the old protective pavilion from childhood is long torn.

I must also let you know how easily confused I am at some points. Sometimes I felt like someone intentionally catapulted me into the most puzzling situations; every day feels like a manifold maze, and each day nudges icicle tears out of my eyes. I can’t count the times I’ve craned my head out of my window as though expecting a visitor bearing a largesse of clarity or with Midas touch. I once stood before a mirror and had the grimmest thought, which sent a cold shiver down my spine.

But, above untimely death, hurting myself and not hoping at all, I choose to live. To breathe and stand for my truth every day. I betroth myself to the rigorous apprenticeship of learning, hone my skills, put my tongue in order and strive to quiet my turbulent mind. And most importantly, I seek to uphold at least someone every day, both in my words and in my smiles and in the little expressions of kindness?—?these though are little, but they have afforded some sparkle; the little flickering firefly that directs my steps above scorching earth, prickling thorns, and helps me as I leer into the abyss?—?forging ahead.

My friend, if that’s not too burdensome, I advise you to embark on this adventurous journey, conquer your fears, and rise every day like a phoenix from ashes—this I consider a great mandate, a call to be a strange visiting hope in the lives of others. That reminds me: did Edmonton read to you a certain part of my correspondence with him where I dedicated a whole letter detoxifying the concept of pain and suffering, rebranded it, and presented it as a harmless yet potent recipe for life’s fearsome and glorious growth? If not, I beg you to compel him to do so, since you live so close to each other. I suggest he read the to you over a chill drink at your favorite spot. Then, you’ll understand better the pains that must be embraced and understood.

But not to parry.

Dear friend, if you are not too occupied, I hope to hear from you soon. Do know that I’m dying to hear from you.

With love and hugs,

Minkail

Tony O. Elumelu, C.F.R Dr. 'Tayo Adeyemi Adiatu Bola Atta AltSchool Africa Tayo Ajimoko Julius Kunle Oni, M.D. FAOA Theo Baloyi Oche Writes Ken Bogard Wassim Da??oussi Dr Seun Fakorede, R.Eng, MNSE, MASCE Florence Otedola Peter Tega Oghenejobo