My NIGG*(s)

I must first admit that… I’ve been feeling, a bit lost.

I must also admit that for a while there, I didn’t know what to do. Where to go.

So, I went where I was told to go. I did what everyone said I should do.

And I, to put it mildly, fucking hated it.

And as a result of my general aimlessness, lack of solid foundations, and flighty nature- life did quite a number on me. Or rather, I did a number on myself. And it felt like, in the worst moments, my spirit almost gave, with how grueling life got sometimes. But I want to say, to all (if any) of you who were concerned- I don’t think I was ever in any danger. Of being bent forever. Of being broken.

I am blinking awake. Like a man drunk. From what feels like a long, restless sleep. And I must ask that you to forgive me my absence from your lives.

The dull, repetitive, and mundane existence that has become my everyday had, for a time, zombified me, in a way.

It is regrettable. And I realize why.

I entered the corporate work force. A cesspool of pointless competition fueled by empty ambition. But that’s a digression for another time. Mostly, it’s been a depression brought on by a lack of meaning.

But this morning I awoke remembering, another time. When I was not in the work force(or depressed by it). When I did whatever I wanted, with whomever I wanted.

A time when life was a bit more free. My limited hours not so… dictated.

And I remembered you all, the ones who were there alongside me. Know that I am glad for our time together. And that I love each and every one of you. You were the truest of friends and I would not sacrifice or downplay a minute of our time together. How it has shaped me and the man I’ve now become.

So, I write this letter to you now, with both gratitude and appreciation, knowing it is long overdue:

To my nigga in crime, Bolade, I love you, my friend. You were always there to lift me up when I was down; a constant companion to keep away the loneliness.

To my nigga in culture, Kenivah, I love you, for often being the black hole of silliness and laughter our worries were always sucked into, and subsequently forgotten.

To my nigga in music, Marlon, I love you. For the being the steadfast heart and soul that always pointed us north. Even if you often strayed.

You are the reason my love of music as an artform and source of self-expression was born, kindled, and flowered. Know that it has kept me going during hard days. And that, I credit mostly to you.

To my nigga in Xbox Live, Craig, I love you, for being an endless fountain of unbridled hope. A shining fucking star. The best of us by far, if a little sensitive.

To my nigga in thought and in philosophy, Lucky. I love you.

For your calm demeanor and your gentle energy, which helped foster an environment that allowed me to share some of my most obscure thoughts and ideas. For being one of the kindest, most hardworking souls I have ever come cross. And for those UFC overhand rights, to serve as a reminder that life is short and we should live it.

To my nigga in life, Alfred, I love you, for being such a constant staple in all of my craziest, most hilarious adventures. For always telling me the truth when I needed to hear it most, and letting me do the same for you.

Let me now say the word as it is truly intended. As I truly intend it.

Before it made some of you cringe. Before it labeled and marked us. As uneducated, or tactless and boorish.

It is a word that, I believe, we- as black men(and now most men), utilize in lieu of something felt. A bond we use to keep ourselves a little more… human.

A bridging maybe, to let each other know that we’re all a bit alike. Even though we’re all a bit different.

In a world that often does not wish us to be. In a world that wants us to be clay. To be ice. To be stone. Even though we are blood, even though we are flesh. Even though we are bone.

Allow me now lend the word its well deserved if- and this is to our great cultural detriment- too often implied, intended meaning.

I love you all, my brothers.

My brother in thought. My brother in music. My brother in culture. My brother in crime(the fun kind). My brother in life.

And last but not least, to you, my nigga in blood.

To you I say, and mean it in a way most heartfelt, I love you.

My second shadow. My partner. 

Mon petit frère.

I know life’s being doing a number on you too. I hope you’re okay. I hope it hasn’t broken you.

Because deep down, even if I never said it, I always believed it. Though I(very foolishly), convinced myself of the opposite.

It is you, of the two of us, who’s always been the better brother. In a way, it was always I, the big brother, who chased after you. To walk alongside you.

Though our paths have long since diverged and our lives have been reshaped, dictated by the demands of our society. Know that I have not forgotten. 

To be human.

I love you all, my niggas.

Signed,

Your Brother