letters to lovers

To you,

I read to you, of the perils of colonialism, of tribal afflictions and such while you sat on the toilet for the umpteenth time.

And I just kept reading to you, because the bathroom was without light, and it would've been impossible for you to read yourself in such pain.

I read to you the story of the rise and fall of Onkonkwo, the arrival of the white men, interspersed by your groans.

And this repeats, until late at night. And you then collapsed on the chair, exhausted, whatever went in your stomach, went out as fast.

You then read to me, a story of post-acopalyptic America, a story made of conversations, and desperation.

And by the jetty, you and I, we took turns reciting "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner."

and it didn't matter then that there were things about my country that you could not fathom, that our food made you sick, and the tropical weather was unbearable.

because I had you, in my arms, I had you and we read to each other, in the only way lovers can.

* * * * *

To Yasmin,

You taught me this : Love is all you need. But even then, love is not without pain.

And I still believe that.

Thank you for everything. I was lucky enough to be touched by your passion, and your love through your work.

Rest in Peace, Yasmin Ahmad.
* * * *
To God,

October is coming soon.
I am certain. (as certain as human could be)
Beyond that, it is all you, dear God. And i leave it to you.

* * * *