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a welcome letter to may.

dear may,
welcome to 2020.

i hope you don't mind the clutter. there's a lot that has been happening lately, and i wasn't able to clear up before you got here. 

but come in, my dear, come in, make yourself at home. kick up your feet on the coffee table for a while. 

a lot has happened since your last visit. the last time you saw me, my family and i were enjoying a zambian winter. this time, you've found me in my flat, living with people i am lucky to get to call my uni-family. there have been some developments, some setbacks, quite a few surprises, and a whole lot of change. 

but i like to think that i'm still the same person, underneath it all. changes have been wrought, but i don't think that they've made me utterly unrecognisable- after all, you were able to find me, even though an entire year has passed!

how are you doing, though? i hope you're alright. because i have some news. it may upset you. but i think it something you need to know. 

your elder sister april had come to visit me not too long ago. now i know you know that i always try to be a warm, forgiving host, and i would never, ever speak poorly of any of your siblings. but april really did some damage this time.

i'm sure you have already received the status report on what exactly happened, so i won't go over it all here. what i will say is that your elder sister didn't treat me with as much respect as i had hoped for. now, don't get me wrong, she did her best under the circumstances, she did try her hardest to fulfill her duties, and i respect that, truly. but sometimes things don't work out the way you would hope, and then you have a clash. and oh, what a clash this was.

she ended up wrecking my entire planet. in her chaos she planted panic and disorder and confusion in all of our hearts. she did so much damage that we are being told to stay indoors while the world heals. it feels like she robbed me of my first year, of my closest friends, of the joys of eating out. she robbed others of much, much more precious things than those. 

in all this havoc, i can't help but feel as if she cheated me. and i still tried to be welcoming to her, i still tried to forgive her mishaps. but i reached a breaking point. i lost all my respect for her. i became a bad host- i began wishing for her to go away, before more damage could be done.

april just packed her bags and said farewell moments before you showed up. i can still hear the whistle of her train. there is relief, almost, at having survived it all. but above all there is fearful anticipation, and cautious optimism for whatever comes next.

that's where you come in.

i welcome you home with open arms. but i hope you will forgive me if i am wary. it's not your fault, of course. i have nothing against you personally. it's just that there has been so much pain and confusion and hurt in the past, and all of it was unexpected. so i don't really know what to expect from you. from you, and your younger siblings, when they come to visit.

but this doesn't change the fact that i'm endlessly glad that you're here. and i really do hope that, as much as you can, you enjoy your stay. sure, it's not the prettiest, but it's home.

take your time, my darling. unpack your bags, settle in. i'll make you a cup of hot chocolate, if you'd like one.

even though i am wary, even though i am cautious, i am still trying to be positive. i'm trying to be grateful for whatever the days bring me. it is hard, but i do try.

and i promise i will try to love you like i did last time. i promise i'll accept you and all the things you may bring along (get it? cause you're may?) and i will live each day as it comes, instead of wishing them away in hopes of better ones.

i am grateful that, at the very least, i have days. days that stretch out, long and calm, like a spring. and just as how a spring gives us the gift of life, you have hidden gifts, too. i will respect you, i will honour you, and i will value you. 

and i will pray that you bring us hope.

because never before have we needed it more.

lovingly yours,
uditi.

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