The Perfect Prison

Dear Kamilah,

If this letter manages to find you, then I believe fate has finally smiled upon me. I couldn’t text you this for reasons that will become clear. I’m sure it has probably been a few days since we last spoke and I wanted at least one person to know the truth seeing as I’m compelled to an inexplicable secrecy. Feel free to share this letter but I doubt you’ll have much luck.

Despite everything I have told you in the past, life had always been a mixed bag for me; memorable experiences sparsely scattered between a series of unremarkable events, constant failures, heart breaks and anguish. I was on the fringes of society, having dropped out of community college and on the verge of losing my job as a bank teller. My disgust at my mediocrity was palpable, especially coming from a middle class family in a rich part of town, where the majority of my colleagues were either born with a golden spoon or had one shoved so firmly up their ass as they strolled through life. Wealth really is like winning a genetic lottery isn’t it? I was full of spite. For those who were effortlessly charming. For those minute made masters that conquered everything they try. Those loved by all. And who could forget about the good looking ones?

I developed an intense hatred for the rich and talented, and I am quite certain I was on the verge of doing something extremely dark had it not been for a fortuitous (well not so much now) encounter involving me inadvertently saving the life of an old man. Without going into detail, I saved him by walking in on a mugging in an alley next to my crappy, rundown apartment. He informed me he didn’t have much but since I had given him his life, he was entitled to grant me one wish. Unsure whether he’d been whacked on the head, I politely wished to be perfect and rushed away, positive he might try to sell me his magic beans if I waited around.

But then the unthinkable happened. Almost overnight I had turned a corner. Well, more like broke the damn ceiling. It felt like I had popped a bucket of antidepressants and everything just suddenly felt simpler and lighter. I began to find my voice, able to provide perfect responses in any conversation, using a combination of sizzling wit and knowledge from snippets of random conversations. Any endeavor or skill I decided to pursue became an exercise in simplicity. I started selling our bank’s financial products and within a month I was offered an opportunity to pursue a paid degree in finance. My facial features became striking and with some light exercise my body became chiseled. Within couple of months, it became nothing short of a weapon. Both physically and more usefully, in the eyes of society. To think people still doubt pretty privilege! I was also just young enough for people to attribute all this to a “late second wind of puberty”. “Lucky!” they all called me. If only they knew (again ironic now).

Within months I had become my very definition of perfect. In fact, that year was the only time, I can even remotely accept my life was in fact, perfect. However, the better my station in life got, the more I tried to bury my past, coming up with elaborate back stories as to my lack of a past, all made easier with the death of my parents and my reluctance to join social media (unsurprising when you’re a loner, trying to avoid peoples successes smeared on your face). But now, the shoe was on the other foot. But this wasn’t just any shoe. It was Cinderella’s glass fucking slipper! I created every possible form of social media and within weeks, I had gone viral on multiple platforms.

That left my love life. Which brings me to you. You were everything I had wanted; gorgeous, outspoken, ambitious and from an influential family to boot! The attraction was immediate, well on your part because you were my idea of a perfect soulmate and on my part because I was literally perfect.

It was only from here on in, that I began to feel uneasy. Like an imposter. The walls had started spelling out words but I chose to ignore them. For a while longer at least.

This next part you’re well aware of. I mean, you were at my side every step of the way! I became a top executive at the bank, and went on to start Nuclean and Proxy and we soon became a household name. Then came the wildly successful charities. And finally, the unrivalled political campaign in a divisive country. Just to see if I could do it. Amazing! Well it was, except for the fact that none of them were really me. Each achievement was a whim that was greater yet exponentially blander than the next.

I gradually attempted to sabotage parts of my life. Maybe make a couple of mistakes here and there. That’s when the true cost of my wish was impressed upon me. The very nature of my initial intention prevented me from behaving anything less than perfect in the eyes of the world. The adulation of my peers had blinded me for a while but I came to realize I was in a prison of perfection. In fact, in comparison, I would gladly have taken prison. I searched far and wide for the man who granted my wish but unsurprisingly, it was to no avail.

To give you a clearer indication of how messed up this is, let me give you an example. You constantly marveled at how amazing I was and the fact that we never even disagreed while still maintaining that spark. Well I think it’s important that I mention that while I loved you, or moreover the idea of you at the beginning, the last couple of years were a nightmare. My lack of flaws became my biggest crack and it tore through me like an earthquake. I longed for a scandal, a crazy story or at the least to be able to fight or disagree with you! There were so many little things that had began as meaningful in our relationship that I quickly grew disdainful of. I guess I’m beating a dead horse but I cannot rest easy knowing the world, including the only person I may care about thought of me as some kind of false prophet.

I turned spirituality in a futile attempt to find meaning and hopefully alter my definition of perfect and reverse the spell but it became apparent I was defined by the measures of perfection set by a cynical, jealous, young man. I was merely a reflection of what people wanted to be.

So there I was. Once again. Having come full circle to the dark place, only this time at the opposite end of the spectrum. A breakdown would have been a welcome escape, but the only possible way out seemed to be the ultimate one. But predictably, even that was impossible. So all that was left to do was use my perfect brain to come up with the perfect plan.

Which brings me to now. I write this letter, on the frontlines in Syria, in a small village expecting heavy shell fire in the next 48 hours. As you know, the world (including you) is under the impression on a heroes trip to shed light on an oppressive regime and make an impassioned plea to the world to take action. But what you don’t know is that I’m not travelling with a team, and instead am armed with just the camera on my phone. In fact, if I have done this right, by the time you get this letter you have probably seen me on Instagram, Twitter and most likely, the news. A martyr to the world. The pebble for the ripples of retaliation to come. But the truth is, there was only one way for me to die and if you get this, then I am glad to declare that Mr. Perfect is finally dead.

Yours Truly (At long last)

Babel