A Life In Letters

Dear Uncle G,

I know you had a part in the raising of me, and that I should love you and respect you. But the events of childhood can not be erased from my mind. I remember the screaming and shouting, the drunken nights, even the times you hit my aunt. And now, with the recent revelation that you had something to do with the deportation of my mother so many years ago, I find it hard to muster any feelings of fondness towards you.

In fact, the very thought of you repulses me. I try not to hate, but you make it so difficult. I thank God that you no longer live with us. I am no longer subjugated to sloppy hugs and beer scented kisses. Nor must I hear your ignorance seeping through the walls of the house late in the hours of night.

I wish very much to erase the memory of you. Having no father, I fear you are the only example my brother and I have of a father figure. I know it to be a poor one, and there fore discard it. And do please stop insisting on me calling you father, I did it when I was younger upon Aunt V’s request, but now… That I should do it of free will, and right mind, is inconceivable.

I do hope you understand what I am saying, I know your English is very poor. Which is absurd, considering you’ve lived in the U.S for over twenty years now. But I digress. I apologize deeply should I sound cold hearted, but sympathy and kindness fails me where you are concerned.

Sincerely,
NightWriter.

Dear Mother,

I know we don’t get along all the time. In fact, we rarely do. And I know I could spend more time with you, and talk a little gentler, and be less sarcastic. I know you think I don’t listen when you talk, but I do. It’s just that you don’t listen when I talk. And you refuse to understand the point that I’m coming from. I know you’re older and wiser, but give me some credit. Contrary to your beliefs, I’m not a complete dunce. Heck, I may not be a dunce at all. But you don’t see this, because all your time is consumed with criticism, and lecturing.

I know you love me, and only want the best, but you lived your life, let me live mine. Believe it or not, this was intended to be an apology. And I am sorry. It’s not completely my fault, it’s not anyones fault really. Those thirteen years you were away, left a huge hole in our relationship. It’s going to take a while to fix it. We may even need to start over. But what ever we do, we have to do it right.

So I’ll listen more, if you do the same.

Love,
Your daughter.

Dear Aunt V,

I want to thank you for, well just about everything. First of all. I would like to thank you for taking me in, and raising me and my brother when my mother was deported. I know it was not easy. In fact, far from it. And I know we could be troublesome, and caused you many stressful days. I realize you did not have to do anything for us. But you did it anyway; because your heart is made of gold, and your spirit is an everlasting love.

I want to thank you for supporting me, and teaching me the important things in life, such as love, respect, honesty, kindness, generosity… You taught me that my word is my bond, and to never brake a promise. And though it seems impossible, you still try to educate me on the importance of patience.

But most of all, I want to thank you for your love. It is the most important lesson of all.

I beg you, please remember this. Remember it when I am angry, when we argue over things both little and big. Remember this always, I love you, and give thanks for you every chance I get.

Thank You,
NightWriter.

Dear Steph,

You desire to understand the operation of things in this bizarre world of which I have come to live; so I have decided to humor you. My mother is determined to drive me mad with her persistent nagging. If it is not that I am too fat and need to lose weight, then it is meddling in my career aspirations. For once I would like to sit down at the table and eat a meal with out having its calorie and fat amount drilled in to my brain. Unfortunately, my mother and I are so alike that we can not exist in the same room for long periods of time; for if such an occasion were to arise the entire universe would explode. Or so it would seem.

Aunt V is well. Every now and then she falls ill to the side affects of her dialysis: nausea, fatigue, over all loss of energy. Her attempts to keep peace in the household are of course futile. Never the less, she is resilient. The only sign that she grows weary of our bickering is her frequent trips to Uncle G’s apartment. I must say, for two people who are suppose to be separated they spend an awful large amount of time together. This of course upsets my mother, but nothing can be done about it.

And what of my brother? Since we moved to the apartment and left him out on the streets he has declined. Morally, spiritually, hygienically… you get the idea. I miss him dearly, but I understand that in his current madness it would be impossible for him to coexist peacefully with the family. He has found him self a new addiction, crack. And recently, we discovered that he was diagnosed with schizophrenia, which explains so much of our childhood. For the time being our only contact with him is when we return to the house for more boxes, or when I see him at the gas station while waiting for the bus. He is in our prayers, for God is the only one who can help him now.

As for myself, I do my best to go on. As the monotony of life seeps into my very soul, all I feel is remorse for the distance between this moment and that of my dreams. Sometimes my mind feels as though some one has switched on the auto pilot button. The world keeps moving, and only I have stopped. Late at night, tired yet restless, my eyes stare out into the abyss as one single question keeps my consciousness awake: How do I move forward?

Sincerely,
NightWriter