Let’s talk about 2016 briefly. I am taking a deep breath as I vehemently punch the keys on my keyboard like an inebriated hacker. I am not a hacker. I am a displeased romantic. I am taking a deep breath because that is the thing to do when you are feeling renewed. Or refreshed. Or refueled. Whatever. How I wish 2017 were material so that I could run to it right away and hug it tightly — and grab its butt, maybe. Thanks to 2017, I have been salvaged. I have been snatched from the grip of 2016’s malevolent hands.
2016 was practically me whenever I’m in the kitchen with my mum and she asks me to wrap Amala in nylon. I never got a hold of 2016.
Okay, let’s not talk about 2016.
Here’s to 2017:
Sigh. I am coming off as a massive ball of mush by writing this. Well, you, 2017, didn’t ask for this, but it’s one of the things I ought to do. Maybe I should stop referring to 2017 as the second party. Maybe not. You, 2017, are like a new lover that helped me get over a terrible relationship. 2016 treated me very badly. It has left me a little insecure. In fact, I am experiencing PTSD. You see, this relationship with you is quite unavoidable else I would have taken a break. A break from the constant battles that I gotta fight. A break from the chaos, heartbreak, sadness and all that I was put through.
“You don chop this night?”
“Bro. I never chop today at all”
That was 2016 for me.
I do not intend to talk about it for I am desperately trying not to focus on the past but the present and future. It is a new day, a week, a new month, a new year. I want to make resolutions, but I have thoughtfully resolved that resolutions are for screens. I dare say that my new year resolution is to stop waiting till it’s a new year before I make a resolution. I dare say that time is a construct that was created to keep man in check, only that it has put in place certain things that need reevaluation — like new year resolutions. Oh God. I have derailed. This was intended to be a love letter. Well, not particularly a love letter, but something to state the conditions of my giving myself over completely to you.
2017, you have to take very good care of me. I want you to love me the same way Wiz Khalifa loves weed. I have been rendered fragile and a bit cynical by 2016. I am fragile like an iPhone. iPhone 6 in particular. I believe that you are here to fix me for I am broken. Broken and damaged. Do not push me around like a cart. Ensure that you are always in my favor in all my doings. And most importantly, never fuck me in the ass. No matter what the situation is, NEVER FUCK ME IN THE ASS. You are allowed the luxury to touch me from time to time. But I must derive pleasure from the…touching. Basically, this is all for now. I do not have much that I want to say.
I will be waiting to hear from you.