by Ogadimma Ebele
Ogadimma is a political science major living in Hyde Park, Massachusetts. Writing is her passion and she credits this assignment with helping to further her composition skills. In 2019, she plans to focus all of her energy on pursuing her dream of landing a career in comedy writing.
December 1, 2018
Dear Writing,
We need to talk. I know we haven’t been dating for very long. But there’s something I need to tell you. I love you. And I don’t mean that in a perfunctory way. I mean that in a real way. I am absolutely in love with you. And I hope that doesn’t scare you away. It’s just that I’ve never felt this way about anyone else. You may think I’m moving too fast, but my feelings for you are never going to go away. I love everything about you.
You let me say what I really mean, and no one can tell me that I’m wrong. I can take one idea and manipulate it in several different ways. Simpleton versus fool. Tetchy versus irritable. I can make people feel what I want them to feel— sad or happy, angry or enlightened. I love that I can determine how people are going to interpret you. What thoughts they are going to have when they walk away from you. What questions they are going to ask themselves when they are done with you. I have the control. I can maneuver all the controls on the ship: tone, syntax, word choice, style, and everything between the lines.
There are so many ways I can enhance you, and no one has ever granted me such flexibility. I can make my sentences short. And abrupt. To illustrate something jarring. Or impactful. Or, I can make my sentences long, and extensive, to illustrate something exhausting, or draining. I can obey some of your rules— like using commas, whenever I want the reader to pause, or if I want to introduce a list, or I feel the phrase is too long. Or I can totally break your rules and not use commas if I want the reader to feel anxious or confused or fearful or scatterbrained or neither of these things or all of these things.
I love you. I love that you are education in its most primary form. With you, I have the freedom to teach or be taught. You are so primitive, yet so contemporary. So fundamental, yet so essential. And I know this may be a lot to take in. But I would really like to know if you feel the same way. And I can’t wait until the next mailing cycle. Meet me at our special publishing house this weekend. Please. I need a definite answer.
Love,
Ogadimma Ebele
P.S I would really appreciate if you would print out beforehand. Sometimes I can’t read you. 😉
December 5, 2018
Dear Writing,
That was rude. I told you to meet up with me, but you never showed. I told you to give me an answer, but I never got one. I was sitting there waiting and waiting for you. Waiting for to you tell me I’m beautiful. For you to take me in your arms. For us to go on a second date. And a third. And a fourth. But. . .
You never came. Why didn’t you come? I thought we were going to grow old together. If you didn’t like me, you could’ve just said that. Instead of breaking my heart.
I saw this coming. I should’ve known better. I’m so stupid. Why did I let myself fall for you?
I guess. . . I just thought. . . it would be different this time. I thought I was unique. I thought you would actually like me. I thought my ideas were actually good enough. But I guess they’re not. Not for you at least.
I hate you. I had a goal. And you ruined it. I had a plan. Now I’m not even sure about it. Now I’m not even sure about you. Why did you step on my heart? Why would you tell me one thing them do the next? You’re so unreliable. Nothing about you is definite. You’re just like your process, recursive. You have no linear direction. No order. I’m constantly just wandering around in circles hoping that the master idea will come to me. Screw that. Screw you. I don’t need you. I don’t need your approval. I know I’m great, and I know my ideas are great. And if you’re too stupid to share them with everyone one else then. . . Screw. You.
I bet you don’t even know what the master idea is. You probably think you’re some holier than thou intellect. Well you’re not. Because if you were really that smart, you would know that there is no master idea. You would know that style is subjective. You would know that what appeals to one audience, may not appeal to the next. You would know that you are supposed to be for teaching purposes, not superficial ones.
And you’re probably going to hit me with that stupid line— It’s not about what other people think. Shut up. Why would I be interested if I didn’t want the world to hear my voice? The whole point is to teach people— help people. God, you’re so frustrating, in every which way that you operate. How do you expect me to master you? There are not enough hours in the day. You’re impossible. I hate you. And I’m giving up on you.
(Not) Sincerely,
Ogadimma Ebele
P.S That font looks atrocious on you. Even Comic Sans says so. And he’s the ugliest of them all.
December 10, 2018
Dear Writing,
I take that back. I can’t give up on you. I won’t give up on you. Because I still love you. I still love everything about you. Even your never-ending back and forth process. Even your strict demand for practice and discipline. I still love you. I still love you despite your vexing uncertainty.
I love you because you are the only thing that I have a passion for. Which is why I hate your lack of practicality.
What’s wrong with me? Why am I drawn to you? You of all people. I could’ve been with Computer-Science or Engineering. Mummy even wanted me to date Nursing, but I turned him down. For you. Because you’re not strict and one-answered like them. I don’t have to figure out your solution. I am the solution. My words. My voice. I love you, I really do. I just hate that you’re so unreliable. Why must you be one of the very, very, very few people that I am actually interested in?
Look I’m sorry about earlier. I really do care about you. But it’s just so hard because no matter what, I always do something wrong. Change this Omit that This isn’t suitable for your audience This isn’t the appropriate word to use This sentence isn’t preserving your purpose This phrase is too confusing Rewrite this paragraph Scratch that paragraph Matter of fact change your whole idea and start over from the beginning. All these expectations make my head spin. But, there’s no way to get around them. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even good enough. If I should even bother.
But honestly, no matter how much I push you away, I will always find my way back to you. Because I love you. Whenever I’m with you I can’t stop smiling. And when I’m not with you I can’t stop thinking about you. No matter how much I try to take interest in other people, you will always be the one. I will never be truly satisfied without you.
I know you’re nothing like your counterparts, but I need you. So, can’t you just be a little like them? You know, take a page out of their book—no pun intended. I know I said I don’t like formulas, but how many letters do I have to write for you to just give me one? Or at least a hint? A sign? Just something. Anything. Please?
Yours Truly,
Ogadimma Ebele
December 14, 2018
Dear Writing,
What I’m going to do. I hate you. But I love you. I hate that I love you. I love that I can be myself around you. No one has ever made me feel that way before. It’s the greatest gift anyone could ever ask for.
Which is why I need you. With your help, I can give that gift to other people. I can speak for those who can’t speak for themselves. I can stand up for people who don’t have the privilege that I do. I can teach the world what it desperately needs to learn. I can enlighten people. I can make a difference. I need your platform. But you don’t want to give it to me. You don’t want to help me. Why must you make it so hard for me? Did I do something wrong? Are you angry with me? You must be, because you’re constantly forcing me to prove myself. How much proving do I need to do?
Do you think that I’m just using you for your success? Because I’m not. Do you think I’m not worthy enough? Because I am.
One day you will realize how passionate I am about you. One day, you will allow me to augment the body of knowledge in the world. One day you will have the same love for me, that I have for you.
I hope so. I truly hope so. If my love for you is never returned I will be forced to feign love with someone else. If my love for you is never returned my blood, sweat, and tears will go down the drain. If my love for you is never returned my hope. . . will turn into discouragement.
My hope. . . will turn into despair. My hope. . . will turn into failure.
With you, there is a great possibility that my dream will not align with my reality. But there is also the possibility that it will. With you, there is a possibility that my words can actually make a difference. But there is also a possibility that they won’t. That my words. . . will be just that. Just words. No difference.
Just a dream. No reality.
But, I hope not. I hope one day I’ll be good enough for you. I hope one day we can finally be together.
Love,
Ogadimma Ebele
P. S Sorry about the whole font thing. Times New Roman looks good on everyone!