This is to a person who has a special place on my room’s wall among the colourful pictures of everything else I love and everyone else I look up to. This is to a person who has ruled my Chrome histories for so long now. This is to a person whose reply to a friend’s Facebook message, just a ‘hi’, kept me jumping and excited for a complete day. After everything that’s surfacing now, probably she should be the first person I should tell, “Listen, honey, talk with him no more.”
It was Facebook that introduced to me a Shamir Reuben that I’ve respected and liked and loved forever. It is Facebook that has introduced me to another Shamir Reuben which my heart does not wish to identify with the Shamir I had so respected. Are you guilty? I don’t know. It’s too early for anyone of us to say so. And, believe you me, the dilemma of what the truth is has been killing me, like every other fan of yours who’s ever fallen for your words and the presumed purity they inhabited.
I really don’t know how true this is, Shamir, but these stories from fellow fans have shattered me. It has shattered me like each other fan of yours who had believed in the strength of your words and in the serenity of the rhythm that bound them. The strength of these words has begun to waver, Shamir, just like our trust, our belief and everything else these words had built for you, and for us.
This is to a person whose words have moved me every single time they hit my ears. This is to a person I could go on listening over and over again and never get bored. When I come to think of everything that’s been happening around, it’s your own words that begin to mumble in my head in an endless loop. “For the sake of three long years of friendship that we’ve both been tied to, tonight, just tonight, I ask for truth.”
Because believe me, Shamir, everything’s not fine. It’s just not.