Dear J

I learnt what “skid marks” were the hard way. I also lived with the most putrid, rotting fish fingers in the fridge – so pungent I caught a whiff of it on my robe after a hot shower in California. To be fair, I contributed to this lifestyle by allowing us to keep the leftover Chicken Masala in the microwave after a night out, still a superior alternative to the kebabs across the street. ‘Twas good whilst it lasted but we weren’t raving to it.

It’s not exactly socially acceptable to pee in the same room as another person, with the door open. I don’t usually let people listen to me pee either. So I think what we have is pretty special. There’s also no one else I’d rather be caught tatas out to the sun with but you, babe. Only in France.

And don’t even get me started on “when the day is winding down”. The onset of night is the beginning of delirium. We can get away with following a good looking man home (half joking), guffawing in tears in supermarkets, malls, parks, trains… We have left echoes of our joint existence in narrow lanes and bar corners. We are insufferable, but who can help it when you pronounce ‘Gare du Nord’ like that??

You are my saving grace on Moody Mornings, your positivity dampened only by scoundrels that demand you donate to them- the deaf, blind and mute. All of them hearing & speaking. You drag me away from hopeless conversations and you help me snag all the deals. Ask for the iPhone charger, you say, the hotel adapters, an umbrella, low sodium meals on the airplane. Where would I be without you? Soaking wet, wandering through the streets of Paris, lost, and dying from chronic high blood pressure, most likely. And I can’t thank you enough for trouble shooting my laptop and updating my phone so that I can upgrade my emoji usage. I have been waiting for a ‘crossed fingers’ pictogram for the longest time. You are my I.T Wiz, MY ROCK.

I am thankful that you’re always on my cycle: lazy-day bud one day, hiking and yoga bud the next. Wine buddy one day, I-would-rather-die-than-drink buddy the next. Thank you for listening to stories about the same guys over and over again. Thank you for seeing the best in me. And most of all, thank you for understanding that my God is my compass.

I am always glad to know you are near, your sandals thumping behind me.


So, I stopped myself from sending you a post. It would’ve earned a chuckle, and you’d have confirmation that I remember things about you and that you still surface from time to time. Like a whiteboard stain.


I romanticised my English teacher when I saw pictures of his newly furnished house. Wooden panels, artistically placed photographs he no doubt collected. A curtain separating the living room from the bedroom, used also to dim the lights for movies on the couch. A personal cinema. Someone could lay their head on his lap (I still can’t decide if it’s a man or a woman), whilst he holds a glass of wine, as he does after an evening of marking. On a school night, as he seems to be in the cheeky habit of doing and admitting. He’d put on his favourite movies, or they would watch a new cinematic masterpiece together and discuss it’s merits and downfalls. “Well that was shit…” I can imagine him saying. Or he’d bury his face in his hands, mouth slightly open. “I just can’t believe we spent two fucking hours watching that”, and they’d both burst out laughing. “Horrendous”, she’d/ he’d say. “Just awful“. And it’d become a running joke, with lines from the movie quoted and recited back and forth. It’d be one of those deeply inspiring relationships, full of beautiful lively moments. Good stories to tell. They’d see jazz performers, experience sunrises and green smoothies together, spend nights soaking in music from speakers he’d saved up to buy… I respect anyone who, though lives humbly, owns a pair of high quality speakers. I will marry you for that and your bookshelf.


So she talked to him on the phone today whilst I was sitting on the sofa and reading some poetry. She told me to be quiet and said “if you have something to say, talk to me on facebook”. That was a ridiculous and hilarious thing to suggest as I was sitting in the same room as her, less than a meter away. But that was the plan anyway. So I listened to them talk in turns, sharing little things about their day, and let their banter be the soundtrack to my scrolling through blogs. I noticed the ease with which she spoke and his chuckles interwoven through her voice and felt happy. This could be something. But if this is where it ends, it’s sweet to see the beginnings of a relationship. Someone is making an effort with her. Finally. Someone is willing to take the time to enjoy her company, her laughter and take part in insignificant conversations (which are nice and full of that mundane charm, if that makes sense). I’m happy about this. The excitement of her having a crush and watching the trend of modern day romance unfold.

And now she is asleep because she woke up at 6 today, God bless her, and I am sitting on the floor in my uniform, completely stuffed with fried rice and waiting for someone to reply to me on facebook. I’ve just remembered what she said today that made me smile. She said she was still praying and that she was praying about him too. God, You are incredible.

Also, I have a tonne of art work to do but now is not the time. Perhaps tomorrow.