The Letter

Dear Michelle,

 Michelle:

 Hello, baby girl. Hello, warrior. How have you been?

 Natasha:

 I’ve been good, Michelle, thank you for asking.   

Michelle:

 I sense that there’s more behind this greeting - a question - a cry. Something has been waiting in the silence.

 Natasha:

 Why did you hide me?

 Why didn’t you want the sun to see me?

 Why did you push me into the shadows, only to step out in your own name?

 Michelle:

 I was scared.

 The life we were living—I didn’t know how to hold it anymore. So, I put you away, changed my name from Natasha to Michelle.

 I thought I was starting over.

 I thought I was becoming new.

 But in doing so, I buried you.

 And now I see: you were never meant to be erased.

 Natasha:

 You didn’t want to see me anymore.

 But I was the girl who dreamed big dreams.

 I was the one who went to school, fought for our place, bore the weight of abuse, and stood back up again. I was the one who got us to university, who earned a Bachelor of Science, a Bachelor of Education. A Postgraduate Diploma. You were still me then—still Natasha. I taught in North London, lived in the Netherlands, worked in Ghana, America, and Dubai. And when you got to Qatar, you’d had enough. So you changed everything. But you can’t run from me. I am your shadow, your mirror, your twin.

 Michelle:

 I know now.

 You were my Siamese twin, and I severed us. Not out of hate, but fear. Because you stumbled, I thought I had to walk alone.

 I didn’t honour you, even though you laid every brick of the path I now walk on.

 You survived, and I tried to forget. You cried, and I closed the door. You were brave, and I called you broken.

 But I know better now. Welcome, Natasha.

 I welcome you back into this life, into my name, into this body, this story, this art. You are not a memory—I am because you were.