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To all the girls and guys I love (everyone):
I hope this letter fucks “you” up.
. . .
On May 16th, 2012, my Life changed forever. My Mom—bless her soul—the last of my parents still breathing, passed away…one week after I didn’t call her on mothers day. I was sad, and numbing myself with a blunt, stuck in my head, overthinking things as I usually do when I’m overcome with emotion. And before I could apologize, she was gone…
I write this letter to you, my friends, the first of perhaps many letters, to express what is now coming through me, something/Someone that has been begging for expression for a long time now.
It’s funny how the death of someone close to you can so brutally destroy all shitty monuments that you’ve built up around yourself. The walls of ego and false beliefs and identity that you’ve become so attached to, come shattering down so vividly, with such an epic crash, there is nothing left but what you really are.
So, for perhaps the first time, you are seeing who I really am. For the first time, I am being who I really am.
There has been an Idea formed in me for a while now, and Idea of a way to be, and Idea of what life could be if I were to live as I could live—with all the love and intensity and creativity and integrity and honesty that exists. Old versions of who you knew as Obi have been deathly afraid to be that guy…until now. I guess you can say that when you’ve lost the two people that you love more than anything else at such a young age, you look out to Life’s horizon afraid of nothing else that can come at you.
::tears::
What is Death when you’ve already seen it face to face? What is poverty? What is scorn? These things are nothing to me.
Nothing.
YOU ARE GOING TO DIE. I hope you understand that. The people around you will fall sick and pass away. Someone you love will suddenly not be around. Something you’re attached to will finally break and dissolve into nothing. You will be fired. Your car will break down. Someone will steal your iPod. Everything that you’ve become attached to will change. And when all those THINGS change, who will you be then?
I write this letter, not to you—Fuck “you”—but to that Person within. When we talk and have those deep conversations that last for hours on end, “we” are not talking, but something more…there is a connection of two souls that see each other beyond the forms that we’ve come to believe that we are.
But we’re not things. We’re something more. And that’s what I speak to. I speak to the Restlessness within you that tugs at your carefully-ironed polo as you’re typing those fucking spreadsheets on Monday morning when you’d rather be at home playing the piano, naked.
I promise that I will no longer bullshit you. I will no longer tell you what you want to hear. My truth will burn within you. It will rattle your falsehood. It will spark that inner something that knows that you’ve been full of shit for a long time.
So when we talk next, don’t tell me of your problems. Tell me of your purpose. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU HERE FOR? What are you doing with your life? I want to hear of your plans to fly off into space shooting lasers from your soul.
I write this letter as a testament to the Obi you will know from this moment and for every moment until I explode like a wayward rocket over the skies above you. You will never know me more intense, more creative, more loving, and more honest than right now, and every now in the future.
You have never known Me until now.
And I, finally, want to get to know You.
Tagged as:
death,
dying,
frank ocean,
martin luther king,
open letter,
purpose
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