Kiana
Oh Candice, you beautiful woman.
I should definitely start off by apologizing for taking so fucking long to write to you, and for this being an email and not a letter as promised. I was supposed to send out a package to you in the mail when I flew to California last fall, but I arrived there to find that I had forgotten it on the boat back in the Dominican Republic. I figured I’d be able to send it out from the BVI, but upon my arrival there I discovered that you can barely even find WiFi on these islands. I was disillusioned to think I was going back to a first world country. What a place… Anyhow, at the end of the day these are all just excuses, I should have written to you right away, and I suppose I’m just lazy. So I do hope you’ll forgive me…
I still remember sitting on Lauren’s Mimi’s living room floor, meeting you for the first time. There was an excitement in the air. You were getting ready to go to India, I believe. I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you were. And it wasn’t [solely] your external appearance, but instead, it seemed to radiate from deep within and encompass your whole being—similar to the beauty of a deep, fiery sunset, the kind I see after a cloudy day. There was an exoticism about you, you seemed so free and bold. Right then, you became a role model for me (keep in mind, I had met very little people in my life up until this point. I grew up on a farm with not many people around, and then I moved to South Georgia. You were pivotal). Growing up to be a strong, charismatic, and gracious woman was now on my list.
I thank you from the bottom of my heart for allowing me to occupy a tiny space in yours. It has made a tremendous difference in my life. I mean, the memory of having a phone conversation with you while I was babysitting at 15 or 16 years old is still so vivid in my mind. It was right after you moved to Raleigh, and you were telling me about how you were happy and excited to be able to do new things in a new place. From then we never really had a long conversation again, that I can recall at least. Regardless, my sentiments towards you and our friendship never ever changed. That is the type of friendship I appreciate most. So now I sit here daydreaming of the day we get to spend time together and reconnect again… a lot has transpired in the past six years.
In this time, I have been constantly growing and evolving. Learning new things, being introduced to different situations and types of people. I have been tested, lonely, loved, exhausted, satiated, and have dipped my toes in all kinds of waters just trying to figure out a little more about who I am. But sometimes I feel like that knowledge and connection with myself was much deeper when I was 15, and now I’m running around in circles searching for something I can't quite put my finger on. The more you see, the less you know holds true, I suppose. What is growing up like?! Tell me I’ll be okay!!!
I'm now in Guadeloupe, a French island in the Caribbean, and I feel happy. Fresh baguettes, church bells, and espressos wake me up early in the morning; hikes up hills, over boulders, and along rivers fill my days; and best of all A PUBLIC LIBRARY—finally, a place where I can sit in quiet and attempt to get the blood flowing to my fingertips (and brain) again in order to summon words upon a computer screen. I am tired of being stuck in a creative funk, and I have a feeling that this place might be just the cure I need. Temporary as it might be, I've been looking forward to a space like this for a long time.
I have been reading your blog for the past few months, and BRA-fucking-VO. You are a goddess. The bravery, openness, and vulnerability in your writing is commendable, graceful, and so so so beautiful. I know I opened with this, but thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart, for being such an inspiration to me. I have stories to tell, things to share, but sometimes I restrain myself because who in the world would want to read what I write... who would it help... and I'm not sure I want to be judged. But then I read your stories, and I realize that you could be asking the same questions but you did it anyways, and there I am soaking it all up.
The library is actually closing for lunch in a few minutes, and so even though a thousand more subjects are running through my mind, I'm going to go ahead and send this out to avoid it taking another six months. Thank you for supporting me in my crazy life. I love you. I will write more soon.
PS. COME VISIT MEEEEEE.
PPS. I will send you that letter and stuffs I promised, I promise.
With my whole heart,
Kiana Weltzien
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Kiana, my love!!
Your letter was such a sweet and lovely surprise and a much-needed gesture in a time of intense change in my life. Not quite ready to talk about it yet, but soon.
Growing up is so very hard. It's feeling tested, lonely, loved, exhausted, satiated, and dipping your toes into many different experiences and wondering whether that sensation is warm water on your toes or mud that's playing tricks on your senses. Growing up is hard, my love, but it sounds like you're doing it. And it is true, the older you get and the more you see and feel and live through, the less this whole life thing makes sense. And that's okay - I think it allows us to let go a little bit more on the grasp we have over this idealized version of what we imagined our adult lives would be. And suddenly, you're living without anticipation or expectation. You're sailing a boat around Panama and doing yoga in the sun and writing letters to lovers far, far away. I think that's just life, darling. I promise - it'll be okay.
You are so right - writing and putting it out in the public view is absolutely terrifying. But I have to do it. I have to. And it's been so freeing, letting go and putting the trust on paper. I edit it, you'll see in some of the stories that it's not exactly how Whitney and I loved and lost, but it's what my mind's eye prefers to walk back through. But it's therapeutic, dealing with heartbreak from 10 years ago. Loving and losing - what a dichotomy.
Thank you for your kind words. I don't want any gifts or presents or anything, just your words and knowing that you are okay. I hope to travel out to see you so soon, a reprieve in the sun with those hills and espresso and early morning pastries sounds like something the heart prescribes. Keep writing, Kiana. You have no idea the impact your words will and have had on the eyes and ears that behold it.
Missing you, angel.
Candice