An Open letter to my ex-girlfriend

She loved reading love stories, erotic ones. She told me about Suzan Johnson. She was a good saver heck, she would starve with a fat-ass bank account. She loved her tea anytime any day. She loved goat meat and spiced chicken. She loved fancy restaurants for she was a woman of class. She looked fabulous in Chinese dresses atop wedges. She liked lip gloss. Or, well, a little too much, as if her lips weren’t shimmering enough to reflect a blinding sun ray. She didn’t know about her smile, but it was that of a goddess. That smile that…ah, forget it this isn’t about her beauty even when I could go on for eternity about it. Have you seen those legs? No? Good, because I pray no one else sees them.

Anyway, back to her, she loved cartoons. SpongeBob (I still think about her whenever I wear their boxers) Rio (the one of birds? Love birds, the blue ones) Tom and Jerry, Despicable me (damn i fell in love every time she talked like the minions, and every time I see a minion, I think about the lovely minion who loved me more than Dru loved, what’s that chic Dru loved? Argh, that one) she loved Shrek, for I think at some point, I always felt like Shrek and she was the beautiful princess, hidden away in a castle of pride and family pressure. And I loved all of those movies the way I loved her. I picked a favorite too, for my favorite character looked a lot like her, King Julien in penguins of Madagascar. How sassy (King Julian uses that word, oba what does it mean?) How sexy when she imitates him. Sends me breaking off in the extremities of laughter. She mimics all of those characters like she studied them at campus. Like they were a part of her actuarial science course at MUK (I always had to explain to people that its actuarial, not aquarium).

She strikes imagery at the peak of vividness when she sets out to describe something, a reason she is the master of mimicry. Look here, I have had moments with Richard Kamya where I discreetly break into a loud laughter (of course discreet because Richard is oblivious to why I’m laughing) when Richard acts the same way, with the exact body movements, how he tilts his head and shoulders in unison, like someone just shoved a vibrator down his ass, and then proceeds to smile and make his speech, the same way Joan would imitate him. She saw this because Richard was once a preacher (Mukulu, what happened to grace bible church Bativa?! ) she loves God and is thus, the most attentive person in church. She prays every day before she goes to sleep for one, her family’s routine dictates so and two, she knows she is a great woman in the making. And great women never put their prayer garb off. They pray in the dark and in dangerous alleys of Kasirye road, they pray before “chai”, they pray in the taxi, they pray, they pray, all the damn time.

She loves helping people. She will split the little she has left with someone in need without batting an eyelid. Selflessly. Unregrettably (yes, I just made up that word) like that. Heck, she’s a darling. She accompanied her friend, a chubby girl who was battling weight loss, on her every day early morning Jogs. And you wondered if it wasn’t a heart for helping, then what was it? She was a tiny thing, but fleshy, not bonny, and that made her sexy. I mean, show me a model who is slender but has flesh. All of them are starved dogs with bones biting at their skins for a body shape. You can’t however, rule out the fact that she liked and cherished her weight so much, that if you claimed she’d gained weight, she would ask everyone in her life, even taxi conductors (who she is always observing for stories she can jazz later) about it. “Hey, wama, have I gained weight? And the poor souls subjected to this scrutiny will look on in total amusement, bewildered! Some will nod a polite no. Others will laugh.

I was among those who laughed because if she gained weight, I’d be the first to know for I knew her in and out. The color of her soul. The size of her balls (chic had balls mwaana) For she was such a beauty awake or asleep. And for all the time I was around her, I couldn’t help watching in amusement how God would be so fair as to give me the exact woman I asked for. She wasn’t tall, but with those brains, she always sounded taller than me so who would stand that, really? For a beautiful lady to be cuter, taller and smarter than you? Shaaaa. So I’d say, “wamma thank you jaaja Goodi.” Oh, and perhaps the other “kamogo” (weakness) would have been, the size of her boobs. They were, well, a little grown but fuck it, I loved them. And I never told her that unlike the other men, I loathed big boobs. Seriously, who wants to be suffocated in boobs in the name of romance?

Notably, however, this body I worshiped with the loyalty of a monk to Buddha was the work of her mom. Her hero. The one who nurtured the strong and selfless and sexy and kind woman in her. The one who imparted the go getter attitude in her. The one who taught her the rights of a woman. I loved her mom and regarded her highly before even meeting her. Because if I had such a mom, I wouldn’t be the selfish asshole I was. I would know how to treat people, especially the nice ones. I would listen and understand without judging. I was bad and broken when I met her. And every time I told her I was still learning to love, that’s what I meant. For I’d never loved and perhaps will never love anyone else the way I love her. I just didn’t know how to show it. My selfishness would keep a closed eye on obvious avenues where I had to show my selflessness.

Look here, again, I don’t want to digress, for this isn’t about me. It would be selfish of me to write to someone about me. What doesn’t she know any way? If she awoke and said, I’m blind, I’d believe her, for she knows me the way a pastor knows her favorite book in the bible. So, again, here; she loves her family. Big and small jesses (buju her favorite) Phillo, the snitch, Judith, mark (the master of gadgetry)  fat Joel, maama Jessy and taata Jessy. She’s a good cook but she loathes cooking. She loves Mathematics, she is always banging on about models. Not male models who have seen the work of an efficient gym chisel, no, mathematical models.

She’s a discreet feminist and knows her stand in the scramble for emancipation. She’s not the annoying type though, her analogies will come out only when an opportunity that tests her feminist beliefs presents itself. She’s turning 23 in September. She loves winning but will let you win if you need it to feed your ego. She is quick to trust and believes everyone deserves the benefit of a doubt. She’s a good kisser. A pessimist in trying times. She has a poor appetite but will swallow a liter of ice cream in 30 minutes. Loves eating out. Loves a good massage……..loves babies….even big ones! She hates slow songs; loves reggae music and the color turquoise blue. The list is endlessly trudging on, but truth is, I think I know her, I just nonchalantly ignored the things that would make her happy and I think it was selfish of me. That’s how I lost her.

Valentine’s day is here and I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop regretting why I let such beauty slip away. I’ve realized now that you are too good to let go and I’ll never let that happen again. I know that you are reading this or maybe someone who knows you is, my message is – I still love you and I want you back.

Happy Valentine’s day Stella

S.M.W

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