Letters to Juliet E-Book

Jackie Rose Namiiro

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 149

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

I am not a writer. I am not a poet. but here is everything I ever wanted to say. everything I needed to say. I hope that the stories and letters articulated in this book, helps you to feel and reflect on some of the things, that have molded you, into the person you are today. I hope this book leaves you enlightened and proud of, the person you were, the person you are, and the person you are becoming. from the bottom of my heart, Thank you.

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

INCEPTION

STRONG

GRIEF

OATH

FEUDS

JULIET

THE SUN

WHAT IF

LET GO

LOVE

THE END

POEMS

Preface

'Letters to Juliet' is a collection of stories and letters, I initially wrote for my mother, Juliet.

The reason I decided to write, stem from a phone call I had with her, a few years ago.

One call. One sentence.

That’s all it took. For me, to let go of hurt and pride.

In order, for me to confront my biggest fear and nostalgia, motherly love.

This book contains some of the most vulnerable parts of my heart.

The stories, I wish I had shared with her earlier.

and the letters, with words I wish I had told her sooner.

Although most memories are unrepeatable,

I wanted her to feel and experience some of the most meaningful ones - through this book.

The last few months of completing this book.

Have been the most challenging.

But also, the most beautiful and therapeutic months of my life.

I am so proud of the women we are becoming,

mum.

Of the bond that we are building.

the un-explalnable and unconditional bond,

that feels so foreign,

and is so difficult for us to navigate through,

yet

cannot be denied.

While this Is still wholeheartedly directed to her,

I felt that I needed to share it with the world.

For whoever needed it.

I am so grateful it reached you.

Sincerely

Jackie Rose

Dedication

Dear mum,

I never thought that I would reach to a place of, complete vulnerability and honesty,

concerning the afflictions in my heart.

But here I am.

Here we are.

25 years later.

I’m excited.

I’m nervous.

But.

I am also scared.

Because I know that some parts in this book are going to break your heart.

Although. I hope that most parts,

heal your heart.

Life has taught me that - tomorrow is not promised.

So, we must say, what is needed to be said.

No matter how ugly or beautiful It Is or might be.

There are so many 'Thank You’s’ that are left unsaid.

and just as many ’Sorry’s that should have been said.

I didn’t know how to properly articulate those words.

But I listened to my heart.

and it told me, to tell its stories.

This book contains 25 years collection of,

un-manipulated, un-edited and untold stories.

heartfelt,

from mine to yours.

Your daughter,

Jackie Rose.

The Letters.

The letters you are about to read,

are solely based on my personal memories, emotions and thoughts,

over the last 25 years.

The contents of the book, spread over several years,

and are written In a period of 6 years.

The reader will therefore experience and witness,

that over time, I grow older,

both in my understanding and thoughts.

For that reason, I recommend reading the letters in a chronological order,

to best understand the context of the things articulated in the book.

and lastly,

It is my hope that the letters are read,

with an open mind.

Inception

"the creation or beginning of something: the establishment.

Hvidovre Hospital.

Fødegangen

Excerpt from birth Journal.

May 21st, 1998. Juliet Namiiro, 17.

“19:00: Persistent contractions. Relaxes well between the contractions.

20:15: Currently on the floor.

20:25: Spontaneous urge to push

20:43: a babygirlis born. Screamed Immediately.

pH: 7.31

3300/53cm"

Jackie Rose Namiiro

a true Gemini.

Pause.

my earliest childhood memory is a vivid one, from our four-bedroom flat in Taastrup.

I remember running from the bathroom,

and into the sitting room where Rebecca was playing with our dolls.

I recall running towards her screaming:

"we need to go outside now"

It must have been late spring or early summer,

partly because of the weather.

but also, from the noises outside, that filled every comer of,

the apartment settlement we lived in.

every late spring going Into summer,

there would be this weekly outdoor thing for children called Lȧn og leg,

translated to "borrow and play" In English.

It was an offer for all children between age 6-14 in Taastrupgȧrdsvej where we lived.

children could borrow all types of toys,

and participate in joint games such as water fighting,

round ball and much more, under supervision.

It was the highlight of the year,

or at least. The highlight of mine.

There was nothing like it.

I remember Lȧn og leg used to employ some of Taastrupgȧrdsvejs own young people,

to supervise and play with the children.

at the time I didn't think too much of it.

but I know realise how important and special that was.

In our neighborhood we were a family.

a blended one.

but a united one.

everyone knew each other.

It was a tough neighborhood to grow up in.

But yet, also the only neighborhood I wanted to grow up in.

Our area was mainly inhabited by immigrants and refugees of Turkish, Pakistani, and of

Arabic descent.

At the time, I think we were one of the only two African families that lived there.

But I didn’t feel any different from all the other children.

On the contrary, disregarding all the crime, violence, and social oppression,

that was very much present.

I felt right at home.

"Lån og leg" had returned, and honestly, my biggest priority In life at that moment,

was for Rebecca and me to get downstairs as fast as possible.

I was the youngest of 4 girls at the time,

and so spoiled.

I had everything a 5-year-old could wish for.

a mum I loved.

a Dad that was my hero.

sisters I cherished.

and friends who made me laugh.

Like Future would say "Life is good".

and it really was.

Life was good for a period that felt like a long time,

and I truly lived in happiness.

a state of happiness I haven't felt In more than a decade.

I grew up in a Christian household, where God was above everything.

a very classic African-Christian household,

with the mandatory picture frame in the hallway that quoted

"As for me and my house. We shall serve the Lord"

and we did.

persistently and consistently, in church.

Sunday after Sunday.

But God wasn’t only present on Sundays at church.

He was present, every day and everywhere.

In the morning before leaving for school, our mum would say a little prayer of protection.

Before dinner, Dad would lead the prayer of thanksgiving.

and at night, I would silently thank God for all his blessings,

just as I had been taught.

prayers.

In Its purest and most Innocent form.

It was beautiful.

Life was beautiful.

I remember I cherished every moment at home.

Our home was our safe haven and Dad made sure,

we had everything our little hearts desired.

we laughed.

we played.

we danced.

and truly lived our happiest childhood at home.

I remember Annah, Rebecca, and I, would turn on MTV or VH1

and have the craziest dance offs and sing-a-longs.

Michael Jackson was on repeat.

and I had the J. Lo "love don't cost a thing" video-choreo nailed down.

not missing one beat.

5.8 min of pure joy.

every time.

They don’t make 'em like that no more.

Things were so different back then.

rare.

relatable.

real.

I was five when the video dropped

probably, the peak year of my childhood.

I don’t even think that I completely understood the message of the song

at the time.

But,

there was something about it that just spoke to me.

it was the blended combination of sound, creativity, and emotion

that left me In awe.

almost the same amazement I felt,

watching the choir worship on Sundays.

so much emotion and vulnerability,

through music.

I would say,

music partly raised me.

and would later become,

what saved me.

I knew very early that I was ahead of my age.

in a sense of understanding and curiosity.

I was a very observant child and understood certain things,

I wasn't meant to understand at such a young age.

I loved watching people.

I loved listening to people.

I loved imitating everything that brought me joy.

so curious and very confident in my curiosity.

almost as if I was chasing wisdom.

for me,

everything had to be experienced in depth.

trust and believe,

If there was something I didn’t understand,

I would question it until I did.

as children,

we tend to not understand the gifts we possess,

until a later self-discovery or until someone points it out.

I remember Dad being the first person to point out,

this gift of mine.

he would say that my confidence was rare,

a gift.

I would amaze him as a child,

he would say,

and whenever I was sad about something or scared to do something

he would remind me,

in my own words

"Jackie, asobola"

translated to "Jackie, can do it" in English.

a sentence I would repeatedly say,

as a child.

he would frequently remind me,

and tell me to never forget.

and I never did.

to me, our Dad was my first love.

my best friend.

and my first teacher.

I feel like the majority of basic skills a toddler or child is taught,

I was taught by my Dad.

he taught me how to ride a bike.

taught me how to bind my shoes.

taught me the Luganda language.

taught me the importance of eye contact.

taught me math. Of course, in a way only an African dad can. Hahl

But the one lesson he strived so hard to teach us,

was the lesson about God.

I have met people who love God.

But I have never met anyone that trusts God

in the same capacity as my Dad.

I remember he would often read a scripture or a verse in the bible,

and his whole face would just light up.

based on his facial expressions solely,

one could assume that he had just received,

the most beautiful news.

The word of God sounded like "music to his ears" he would say,

followed by his signature Infectious laugh.

my beautiful Dad.

my strong Dad.

my Godfearing Dad.

To me, our mum was the epitome of love.

She was truly the heart of our home.

She breathed us.

She lived us.

and it was reflected in everything that she did.

she knew us better than anyone.

better than we knew each other,

and at times,

better than we knew ourselves.

I reminisce sometimes,

and I am left in awe of her.

In awe of how she managed,

to raise a stubborn Taurus, an emotional Gemini,

and hard-hearted Sagittarius, under one roof,

while almost perfectly attending to each of our needs.

no tear of ours could hit the concrete,

and no laughs could go unheard within the walls of our home,

without her noticing.

But just as our tears and laughs couldn't go un-noticed. hers couldn't too.

she tried so hard to hide it from us.

the pain.

hide it behind her smile.

hide It behind prayers.

but her sometimes tearful prayers,

and sobbing at night,

exposed her bleeding heart.

Throughout our childhood,

the sound of quarrels had camouflaged itself,

with all the other sounds in our home.

It didn't seem abnormal.

It was our normal.

Our parents.

just being

Mum and Dad.

Mothers are the ultimate protectors

and our strong mum,

was exactly that.

a protector.

There is an African proverb that states,

"a family is like a forest,

if you are outside,

it is dense.

but,

if you are inside,

you will see that,

each tree has Its own position."

and that's the perfect description,

of what our family,

was.

a forest.

Monica, our eldest sister,

was truly the angel,

of our home.

the glue,

that held us all together.

the sun,

that brightened up,

every room in our home.

She was such a light,

and truly the center of my world.

I admired her in every way,

and wanted to be just like her.

at home

shortly before she moved out

Monica and I shared rooms.

I was 5 and she 19,

but it was the perfect dynamic,

because I was 19 in mind,

and she 5 at heart.

she was me,

and I, her.

In every way.

she used to sing in the church choir,

on Sundays

and would spend most of the nights,

in our room singing.

she had such an angelic voice,

that made her lullabies so soothing,

and had me falling peacefully asleep,

right in her arms.

every night.

someone once told me,

that she passed her angelic voice down to me.

I remember,

I found so much pride in that,

till this day,

I still hope that she smiles,

at the sound of my voice.

I sing,

when I am happy.

I sing,

when I am sad.

but for the most parts,

I truly sing because of her.

superheroes are real.

and I am grateful that I had the privilege,

to experience what it means,

to truly perceive someone as one.

Annah is the original super-hero of my life.

as children she was always,

the most fearless,

boldest,

outspoken,

and most talented in the room.

In every room.

so feisty,

and the only one who dared to talk,

back to mum and dad.

something Monica never did.

I admired everything about her.

There was nothing she couldn't do.

at 7 years she was already listed to be,

one of the greatest football players for her age.

She had the greatest fashion sense,

that was absolutely her own.

no one dressed like her In our neighborhood.

she outdid everyone,

in everything.

both boys and girls.

so respected,

so unique,

so, Annah.

being referred to as Annah's little sister,

was the absolute joy of my life.

and remains so.

To be honest,

If someone was to examine my heart,

I am certain,

there would be traces of Rebecca in there.

as children Rebecca and I were,

inseparable.

glued to each other.

we had the same group of friends,

the same routines,

the same interests,

and truly walked hand In hand,

through the small beginnings,

and challenges In life.

everything I did,

I did with her by my side.

She was a couple months older than I, but because she was so shy,

I always felt that I needed to protect her.

no one could raise their voice at her,

In my presence. especially not at school.

certainly, something that still applies today.

I feel like my happiest days have been experienced with her.

and my saddest days,

manageable,

because of her.

my absolute heart,

and reason.

from the outside,

we seemed to be a happy family.

which I honestly felt like we were.

But there was always this undeniable tension in the air.

the tension of everything,

we didn't say.

but all felt so deeply.

and especially for us children,

the tension of,

everything we didn't know.

and it build up.

day by day.

I had gotten used to the quarrels between mum and dad.

but I struggled,

with the sound of Monicas sobbing at night.

Our beds were placed opposite of each other,

and I would often jump out of my bed, in the middle of night,

and into hers,

just to hug her.

none of us would say anything.

but we understood the silence,

of everything we didn't say.

The silent hugs had become our routine.

For me, they were my way of saying, please don't cry.

For her, they must have meant a thousand of words.

silence is truly the loudest form of sound.

one day,

I had run, as fast as I could home after school,

because I had a playdate in the afternoon.

I had only just thrown my backpack in the middle of the hallway,

and turned towards our room,

only to find the door open, and Monica standing in the middle of what looked like a fashion

show of moving boxes, and our room In total chaos.

But there she was, dancing to the sound of Craig David,

smiling as she folded and placed, all her belongings in the boxes.

I remember just starring at her and smiling.

waiting for her to notice me.

It didn't even occur to me in that moment,

that I was about to cry rivers of tears,

due to her leaving our home.

she was so happy,

and it was all that mattered.

a few seconds later, she catches sight of me,

and laughs instantly as she twirls her way towards me,

and lift me up in her arms.

and then she goes "met this girl on monday, took her for a drink on tuesday"

and does a beautiful run of the Wednesday part,

and burst into a laugh when I surprisingly and in-sync with Craig,

goes "and on thursday, and friday, and Saturday we chilled on Sunday"

she was so surprised and proudly said,

you truly are my baby sister.

The following days are similar.

There is this strange silence in the air,

and at home we are all adapting to the idea that,

she is no longer going to be a part of our forest.

Mum Is doing her best to be as supportive as ever.

and although Dad doesn't show,

I know he has a hard time letting go.

especially, under the circumstances of them not talking.

but of course.

as the pretenders we are.

no one says anything.

and she moves.

"the glue that held us together"

and honestly,

life at home begins to fall apart.

The night that changed us.

In life.

There is always that one moment that changes your life forever.

It usually happens at such an unexpected and Inconvenient time

and forces you to either grow or change instantly

for us, my sisters and I

that night was that moment.

and we had no idea of the impact, that one moment would have on our entire life,

and the way in which we function today.

It Is very hard for me to Include that night In this latter.

But it is without doubt the root of my childhood traumas,

and essentially what destroyed our forest and broke our family apart.

It Is the most traumatic moment of my life,

and remains the experience I find the hardest accepting, has taken place.

it has affected me in every conceivable way and has had a huge,

impact on the person I am today, and my personal journey through life.

There are no words to justify what we experienced.

but for years there were so many contradictions, of what had occurred within the walls of

our home,

from the mouths of people that were not present.

and just as many opinions on how we should relate to it.

some in which were and remains very hurtful.

That night,

Only 5 people were present.

our parents,

my sisters,