“A letter to my never again”

Frida Kahlo (a woman I whole heartedly admire) started her letters with ‘Diego’. But I won't mention your name; it is the unmentionable. And frankly, you’re not even close to dear, hence I can’t start off my letter by stating ‘dear’. So I’ll just move on. And write. It is, after all, what you said I know how to do best.

Let us set things straight. Your name is a string of letters as much as ‘hurt’, ‘past’, ‘once was’, ‘never again’. You are just a word. Actually, I think I’ll call you Never Again. So here it goes … again.

Never Again,

You are a word that continuously tries to constraint me. Because as much as words can be liberating, they too can confine and control, can contain and constrain. Never Again is no more than ten letters spread over two words. Or for that matter, it can be a song by Nickelback or Breathing Benjamin.

I google ‘never again’ because that is what one does. Twitter is first on the list. The infamous inspiration has to sprout from somewhere. 9 hours ago: May Nigerians never have a government like Buhari's government ever again. This is the most fraudulent and most corrupt government ever. #neveragain. 7 hours ago: Please support the "Peaceful Families Project" to end domestic violence in Muslim American communities #neveragain. 6 hours ago: I will never use Expedia again. Horrible policies and no refund from a cancellation a month in advance #neveragain. And the most solemn post of all. 5 hours ago: It seems I can fit 200 gingerbread men on my kitchen table #neveragain.

You detested gingerbread men. You said you were never going to have them again. Not for Christmas, not for breakfast, not ever. Again. You also said you won’t have plain flour (350gr of that plus extra for rolling out), bicarbonate of soda and ground cinnamon (1 teaspoon of each) etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. You said a lot of never agains and never did again because you remained no more.

We are different as much as night and day and all the clichés you can set your eyes on. I am, in fact, a cliché. I can say (or rather write) I will never smoke again. Uncle, you would be proud. I can write I will never fall for anorexia again. This would make you proud, Mum. Ana, I’m with you on this one. I can also ostentatiously (I had to put in a word that sounds ostentatious as it may be) write that I will never ever go to church again. Nan, this would hurt you, and of course I’d come. Although the day I would return will hurt like a thousand coffins weighing goodbye. I also said I will never write on paper again (but here I am jotting down the first draft of this letter on a notebook with a pencil as small as my thumb, as ever). I can write I will never cry again (to try and portray an image of a mature woman who, to do so, wears clashing colours and mixed patterns). I can write I will never be a carnivore again - that would make my gynaecologist happy. (She owns a burger chain that doesn’t sell any vegetarian burgers, I think). Wait. Where was I?

Oh. Yes. I can write I will not love again. But love does come when you least expect it to (speaking of clichés). And it does hurt like crazy. Take this body. Take a broken arm, a twisted toe, a bruised torso, a wounded knee and sprained ankle. That isn’t even close to how much love hurts. But to hurt is to love and to love is to hurt. And if there’s no hurt there is no love. All your body aches with love, and you will never know how much that hurts. Because you left. And that hurt more than not eating at all.

I said I will not love again. Except that I think I am. Remember what you told me with the presumption of a man who thinks he suffered living a life that always comes his way? You had told me to find someone who will love me as much as you did. That was a lie. The word ‘love’ itself on your lips is a swear word. Speaking of swear words, you did remind me of my father and all the things he said he wouldn’t do and did so at the same time. The psychologist was right on this matter (yes, I’ve been to one of those even though I swore I will never do that again). I am everything my father didn’t want me to become and I am everything my mother isn’t.

You know that ‘never say never’ idiom. That isn’t a cliché. For I will not say I won’t harm myself by not eating and smoking, I will not say I won’t ever pray, I will not say I won’t or I will, I shall or I shouldn’t, I could’ve but I didn’t. Never again is nothing more than ten letters spread over two words. So, here I am. Writing. Never again will I think Never Again.

(Not) yours sincerely,

Leanne