An Open Letter to my Future Self

I wondered how will i be nine months into the future.  Wrote myself a little personal letter to take stock and remind myself where mankind was at. It was the best of times, the worst of times. A time of great advancement and a time of sickness. A time of great relief and a time of great disbelief. They were even testing a vaccine on human subjects from DRC. Sad.

 

 

You wrote this note for yourself on 4.4.20. A perfect day. A perfect combination. You were happy. Well not happy. 

Anyways.

You had decided to work more on your craft as, you know, corona had confined people to their houses. Lockdowns in nearly a quarter of the world’s total population. The world is shook. The USA been hit like a bitch. (Hey, I hope we still cussing bro). Your xxxx deleted your number because of some bikini pic of a girl the internet was trolling… Brenda… (you trolled her. Whoever thinks bikini pics are nudes) Beauty and the ashtray was on YouTube but you haven’t released it yet. ‘There’s a huge population on the internet now, you need to take advantage of it,’ you kept lamenting. You’re single. On a yet uncharted path. But there’s this girl, you know her. I hope you do. How is she? She said she’d rather love you from a distance. Dat was one big L.

You had decided to go HAM and finally master German, like a biaaaaatch. The neighbour gave you a few books, Obama’s, Malcolm X’s and a book on Don Juan. How are they? You still like your childhood crush. She’s looking like a goddess.

You’d smoked your last cigarette yesterday. How’s that going for you?

 

 

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Any projects? Yea. I hate that question. Have I told you that. You’d decided to work on a domestic violence film script. In same sex relationships. You’re reading Hemingway. And halfway through Little Women. You’d decided to start watching films. Again. Crushed. Was on your laptop. You had two films. You had a lot of halfdone books; Calabasas Dreams, Ghost Town – Anthology, My Disregarded Thoughts; a memoir of a serial killer, Why Don’t You Cry – poetry. All sitting pretty. You were writing for Vanessa sometimes. And always for yourself. You wished to never lose it. Same guy that gave you the Malcolm book, knew Binyavanga. How crazy is that! Imagine that. You took that as a sign. You were spending more time on the internet. As a onlooker really. You abhorred texting and communicating via phone and spend time online to see shit. You’re still single.

You were really working hard to learn how to properly master music. You were making great posters. Everyone loved them. A lot of people love your art. Vybz Kartel wasn’t let out. We thought this was it.

Alex Nderitu – yes the famous PEN Kenya writer, quoted your Facebook post in a nice article. You didn’t read it. It however ended up as another quote by a spokenword poet  you respected. Or thought you did. You’ve never even seen his shit. Never bought nor read anything by him. Is all vibes. Facebook is nice.

You have to ensure you work on your school report and exams. You had fingerd crossed. You were always lucky. And you had smelt the luck when guys were rushing about it. You had a very well thought out and research project btw. Splendid.

Your sister almost getting a kid.

You’re tired mostly.

You’d spent much cash looking for a job. You’d sacrificed a lot for guys. You were mushy on the inside. But opted to hide most of your stengths.

You’d feel the disappointment. Sometimes.

 

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Other times, you got high about it. You love tattoos.

You’d found someone had gone through your things. You were keen. And a good observer. And a listener of nature.

Film. Film. Writing. Film. Books. Laugh. Live. Get baked. This is important. Remember that.

You’d been invited to join in with your blog on an impact thing by some lady. Miles, is it?

Timo had you as his dp. Really smooth mate. I see what you did. You’ve gone back to chess. You’re really listening to Alborosie. And some great reggae acts. You wanna dig into El Hoyo. How far did Corona go? How did that stash saga go with Lost? Did Kenya have a good plan? Did America lose? Did pastors and church people take credit? Is it still on bro? You have confused relationships. You love. Yet you do not. Boundaries are not well defined. You’re really single. How is she like? You’re really hungry. For food. How are you though, really?  Remember that guy that told you how he robs people during the curfew, how is he? Aliomoka? Na wewe uliomoka? Na maboiz? Also, you aren’t writing this because of corona. Or suicide. Or anything. It’s just a letter to the world. A letter to take stock.

America and Europe are shitting themselves cos of corona btw. It’s really bad over there. Africans are just chilling. Low infections though. The Kenyan count is at 122 infections, 4 deaths, 4 recoveries. A six year old had died. Money Heist just came out. How’s your solitary places and safe spaces. Do you have them? Do you still feel suffocated? Are you at a job? How is it? What is it? You still like the pretty hippie girl? Don’t ever forget when you were asked to stop wearing a marvin cape. Don’t. Ever. Kenya is making surgical masks. Really progressive, you opinine.

How’s home? Where is home? Where are we? Did that Rihanna album come out?

How is your book writing coming?

What has changed? With life.

Who are your friends?

Are the vultures still on your back? That corona and OJ joke is rad bro.

You ain’t doing shit.

You can write about anything. You had a mad rant article on earphones for more than a 1000 words. You had a story with the perspective of a talking tortoise. You’re really good at it.

How many people done snitched on ya?

How’s the fam?

Whose music do we like?

How much money do we have?

How many films?

Film equipment?

Indigo?

Knock knock. Tell me we’re still in the dream team.

That Snyder cut better have come out btw.

Hello Wizard.

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