Friday, September 28, 2007

There is nothing like love to make you hate

A love letter in my inbox:

"It is so long since we last saw each other. I never
imagined that you will be so cruel to me.
Understanding as I am of your situation, I did not
expect this agony from you. It seemed sadly that I
have fallen in love with you, that whenever I remember
you, I become wrenchingly tearful. You have become
used and probably bored of me mentioning tears and
cries, but my tears are precious, like anyone else! So
now, you, quite cowardly, have concealed yourself, God
knows where, from me, and you make me suffer. It must
be very gratifying for you to learn that somebody is
crying over you. We were born to wreck each other.

I never imagined that I would fall in love with you,
but it seems that I did. Why would I cry, quite
seriously and poignantly really, had it not been for
real and deadly attachment? So a poem for you or
something along that line, my 'love' Elly!

If I were Muhammad, I would have asked my followers to
direct their faces towards you instead of Mecca

Go to hill Elly. I hate you as much as I love you. You
even deprive me of your image. I do not know what is
spinning in your head that you do not want even to
reply to my emails and calls. Have you been saturated
by my incessant correspondences? It is not attention
that I want from you. I am self-pitying now, but it
is. We mean the opposite of what we proclaim, most of
the time. But I thought you are not that person who
easily withdrew from his friends and even lovers!

After you, I do not know, who would be worthy of my
love? But I will be looking for another absolute whom
I can cry over and bemoan my bad fortunes. I do not
know why I have to say ‘I’ anymore, because it is of
no relevance really. ‘I’ is a convenient pronoun to
allow us to make sense of certain things, especially
those involving allegedly personal or freewill of some
sort. But in actual reality, ‘I’ should be dead by
now, buried under the broken promises, unmeant-meant
statements. The problem, I am thinking to love again.
Like Ka in the brilliant novel of Orhan Pamuk, Snow,
his death is enshrouded in a mystery of love
apparently for the ruthless Ipek, the daughter of
Turgut Bey. Some people do not deserve love, yet we
fall in love with them. I am one of those who fall in
love with the wrong people, like you. Totally
ruthless. Take me to court, if you want. I met you at
SOAS and have known you for four years. If I angered
you, I would have the chance of at least getting you
to take me to court, so that we can see each other. I
hope that you do not have enough money to pay for an
agent to represent you in court! But if you send some
gangs to hurt me, that I cannot help.

Do you have a boyfriend Elly? If not, I can marry
you. I have some money! We can manage. I do not mind
marrying a girl older than me by six years or so! I
can share a baby with you. We can call him Muhammad.
If we get a girl, we name her after my mother, who
died 10 years ago, Sabha. It conveys lightness and
morning, like in good-morning.

Apparently madly in love with you. Ah Elly, thinking
of you really brings my soul to a near halt! If you
have any sense of mercy Elly, come and find me in
Kensington or SOAS! We will just be friends! Do not
tell your friends about this… it is excessive and I do
not know what I mean by it, but I mean it… ‘I’, 'I'...
I am going to send it...yalla… one day before Ramdan
starts…I am afraid, but I send it...yes..
worthwhile... I am in love with my words, ruthless as
they are... a lady is walking and carrying a mobile
phone and talking to somebody, she seems to be working
in a big office. In one hand, she is having a file
with a lot of papers in and on the other, she is
carrying her mobile... the day is beautiful, perfect
for kissing... some suicidal thoughts... I wish I am a
Hamas fighter in Gaza... it is easier…Elly, I like
you… I did not mean it… but I wrote this and it has to
be sent…I like you very much…very much…more than I
could or should… click

1 comment:

Persephone said...

Oh my WORD. Tops anything I've ever gotten. Sweet Jesus. Go easy on him, will you?