Querido John | ¿Qué es el amor?

(Gusti Raju Seitawan)

Querido 2020,

You came in like Christmas morning: chirpy, bubbly and singing. I wanted to marry the sh*t out of you at first sight. January 1! I declared myself hinged with the greatness you would bring.

But the first thing you did was betray me and left me crying in front of a squirrel-eyed, white, male administrator. You didn’t say a damn thing as that man sat across from me and looked offended at the very mention of racism being present in his great institution of higher learning. I begged for mercy on behalf of a hard-working, international student whose crime was delayed funds. Twenty-twenty, I thought you would back me up as I told that white man about cutting classes short because all the carpools to clinicals suddenly became white-only. Thought you would eagerly nod when I described to him all the naira family members strapped together to pay for American education.

But, no, you sat there with a face as merciless as that white man’s!

Accountability and “no” was the only response to all my testimonies of character and sacrifice. Why didn’t you tell me it was pointless for Black people to cry in front of dollar signs?

I thought love was you having my back, and me having yours? I forgave and ignored the signs.

February, it was Maud.
March, it was Bri.
May, it was Floyd.
Not to mention a global STD.

I don’t know if you had it out for Black people or just wanted to f*ck with me. I usually say people have toxic traits, but you were just TOXIC!

You were hysteria.
You were depression.
You were white people showing their ass.
You were isolation.
You were self-hatred.
You were ignorant-ass folks with no masks.
You were double-minded.
You were unmotivated.
You were hopelessness.

I would say I hate you, but I will deny you the satisfaction. So from a rational-turned-radical, still slightly pissed off, trying-not-to-be bitter Black woman, I am over you and won’t be coming back!

Adios forever,
Sykina B.

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