Today as I was cleaning my room, I cam across a brown box filled with well addressed and sealed letters that never made it to the post office. In that moment, a cold feverish but awesome sensation filled my veins and my heart got heavy with wonder but not regret.
Back in time, I was a shy little fellow, bullied and mostly lonely. I was an introvert of all sorts, I sat alone in corners and thought of things people my age didn’t have to think/worry about. I hated Maths, I loved English, I was very obedient, very humble, but with a crazy mind. All this because I loved my secrecy and solitude and I feared the cane so I had to act my life through childhood, hence the unsent letters.
In most of these letters, I attacked all those who ever hurt me, describing them in so much detail, I made some look like the devil itself and others like the devil’s advocate. I literally killed all those who bullied me and in these letters, I took off time and gave them a painful death.
I couldn’t talk to anyone, because you only talked to mzee when he/she talked to you. Otherwise, all I had to do was be silent lest I make a mistake worth the whip.
Looking back, I am lowkey wondering why something so wrong felt so right.
These letters could get me into so much trouble, but I still went ahead to write, address, and seal them and it’s only after then that I felt humane again, all hatred sealed in an envelope.
How different am I from those that bullied me??