Dear Emy,

I am writing this to you with my thoughts tied in knots. The chaos, inside and all around, has not yet left. On the contrary, it is being spread everywhere like a bad smell in the air. Bad times are trying hard to gooble up all of our joys.
I don’t remember who said that the tumult of the world can restrain our abilities to think properly. Maybe. Maybe not. But there’s something I’m certain of : one can build an unreachable corner of silence inside, just to make sure there’s always a place of peace. And writing is also a sweet way for humans to cry out their pain.

How are you doing ? How are things going on your side ? I know that people never truly leave their country, we don’t easily get rid of what is moving inside of us. And there will always be a word, a sentence, a remark, a pair of eyes that will bring us back home.

Millions of people cross the oceans with big dreams in pockets. Some dreams come true, some others become nightmares. I don’t know if you believe in the formula « reinventing oneself », if it means something to you, but I know that you are a supporter of « being less stupid every day ».
Tell me. What are you currently reading ? How many words get out from your chest to a paper ? Is the sun singing on your head or the cold teasing you already ? Let me know if the rhythm of your new city matches the rhythm of your heart. How do you live in this city ? Throughout our existence, we may live in many cities but only a few will live in us. On the other hand, I know what is causing your great sorrow at the moment : but I told you, she will come to you, everything will be fine.

Here, all dawn promises seem to shrink with bad news knocking on doors. It looks like our prayers are seed that are slow to bloom. Like Syto Cavé would say : « Malè pandye sou tout do kay. » But in the midst of our setbacks, a genius has recently found the formula to free us from the grip of gangsterism : cut the dreadlocks that wander the street. We, Haitians, have always been so inventive. How would that man proceed to cut yours ?

Dear friend who bears pieces of sky in your eyes, do you remember how we got in touch ? It was in 2020, in the age of the coronavirus. You came across one of my texts and we went through the years without actually seing each other. Maybe one day we will meet and I will tell you about Dostoïevski who’s holding my hands in the chaos. And I will be glad to see you. In the meantime, keep the light and the energy !

Witensky Lauvince