Dear future daughter,
Real talk.
The world that I brought you into is unfair. As you grow, you will be taught to hide shame in the crevices in your skin. You will find hurt and pain in the beautiful deep blue ocean of humanity. When you spread your magnificent wings, when you glide over quiet hamlets and sleepy streets, when you soar the skies of blinding cities, amidst glowing lights, they will ascend from the rat holes to grab your wings.
You will be told that the marks on your skin are fault lines, and that you’re always an earthquake away from oblivion. You will be made to feel illegal, unholy, like the blood in your veins is a bad omen waiting to be debunked.
You will want.
Want.
Ask for the authentic smell of a rose garden in the middle of spring. Ask for art in the splatter of a broken heart and a shattered china plate. Ask for love, and demand to seize it and mould it. Ask for peace on empty streets under a clear night sky. Demand a real conversation, in an exhausting anonymous crowd. Summon, a soulmate, a lover, a warrior, a weary traveler when you don’t recognize yourself in the mirror.
You will love and lust.
Love and lust.
Charge into it. Write poetry with it in dim lit rooms flooded with moonlight. Open your heart out and paint these unfeeling streets with all the hope you have accumulated over your life. You will be told to fear those pangs of desire burning your heart, let it burn. You will be told that there is something eerie about your lust, decorate it with slow violin music till it scares everyone. Feel every sensation like your life is singular and time’s coming to a close.
You will feel empathy.
Empathize.
Be a revolutionary out for blood. Be a crusader out for truth. Be a soldier out for mercy. Feel every heart like they’re telling a tale no one else can hear and if you skip a beat, you’ll miss out on the chance to tell a beautiful story. They will surround you with moats and fences. Learn to swim. Learn to vault.
You will want to conquer.
Conquer.
Ride among your spoils like a victorious saviour. Wear an invisible cape that flails for humanity. Put thoughts to stone like you intend for them to withstand the weather and time. Seek justice for the miles you had to walk to get here. When you’re tired and weary, ask to get paid in money or metaphors or peace or poetry.
You will feel music.
Compose.
Find the hidden music in raindrops, and busy coffee shops and sounds of aggressive expression. Write them down. Pretend that the world around you is one big song waiting to be heard. That crickets chirping at night are communicating to you. That the stars at night sing you a song that you can hear because you’re awake, and alive and watching.
You will want to dissent.
Dissent.
Dissent against me. Voice your opinions in pitch and tone. Tell me I’m wrong. Ask to be convinced. Ask for better. Demand better.
Best,
Dad
