The creative talk series Dr. H’Artbeats appears each Saturday with a fictional letter from an imagined lover of the arts entertainment and reader of our blog, and raising very relatable questions and, sometimes also, laughable questions that people may often have about, or even in, the entertainment arts. Opinions of brief practical answers or responses, given amid gentle humour, are gathered for each week’s imagined reader’s question by the moderator of the series—and gathered from selected people who are believed to be well-disposed to give them, by the virtue of their experience, field practice, etc. The arts-entertainment-focused Dr. H’Artbeats Series, inspired by the literature-inclined Dear Brittle Paper Series on BrittlePaper.com, is written and moderated by Kayode Taiwo Olla exclusively on BraveartsAfrica.com.
This week on Dr. H’Artbeats, we’re marking the Valentine Season in a positive light, and with love letters that bear deep sincerity, crystal clear honesty and profoundly intense passion in very relatable and heartwarming manners.
I wish all true lovers a happy and fulfilling love life! Read on to wow your sense of romance, then!
Happy Valentine. ❤
—Kayode Taiwo Olla,
Saturday, February 13, 2016.
• • •
You’re the only one in my mind, in my heart, in my head!
I don’t know how best to put this with my lips; it feels it can’t capture what’s in my heart. Perhaps it’s also because I don’t know how I’ll feel saying them in front of you. I don’t want you to think it is because of the Valentine season coming that I’m saying these. God knows I’m being sincere with you that this is coming deep down from my heart.
I want to bare my chest to you; I want to come out bare and true to you: I always lie when I behave all the while as if you aren’t really freaking me, baby. To God, you’re the only one in my mind, in my heart, in my head!
When you complained about my being too obsessed about my male music hero, and so much I fantasize about his persona, physical build, sexy body and his private life to the point of distraction—when you complained, I never knew I was in the wrong all the while I talked back and said some nasty things at you, like that you were only feeling some inferiority complex. Ah, how did I ever get to this stupid level! I didn’t know I had been so hypnotized by celebrity worship then that I had begun to compare you in my mind to those music stars I adored, the media-created them! Ah, baby please, I am so very sorry! Please, forgive me. And you are the man I ever wanna be with, I swear!
I’m a changed lady presently. Talking of change in attitude, it came when I wrote a letter to Dr. H’Artbeats Clinics cos I felt I had an obsession when you complained several times about this getting in-between us; and I was also desperate to save our love from the emotional mess I’ve plunged it. Dr. H’Artbeats replied with counsel that got me thinking about this and sent me back to my correct senses.
God knows I think about you every moment of the day and in my dreams! God knows I nurse deep feelings for you beneath this chest every day and night more than these words can tell! God knows you’re the only man in this mind of mine! God knows you are that special one!
I want you to be the father of my kids. I want you to be the one I’ll take home to mama. I want you to be the man I’ll drop my last name for. I want us to be the best any two ever knew!
I love you like no girl ever can, my Heartlife!
Happy Valentine! *kisses* *hugs*
PS. If you really don’t mind and you like us to forward this email to Dr. H’Artbeats Clinics to have Dr. H’Artbeats publish in his weekly column on the pan-African magazine he features his series in, so another person may find this of help—if you don’t mind, then maybe it’s not a bad idea I just got then; cos I think his column did a lot to make me all the better for you, darling.
I may be strong on the outside but I’m weak on the inside; and you’re that part of me I seek elsewhere
I came across a letter on a column on one pan-African mag like that, Bravearts or something… just a couple of weeks ago. Actually, Sofia referred me and I read straight on and it got me thinking for days. She later told me it came from you; it was when I called you and you didn’t pick my calls. She did a lot of promptings that made me think you both were staging these until I found reason to consider what desperate need for answers could have made you consult at a—is it, psychological or art or something?—clinic. Your sincerity in all the asking and the concerned professionalism of those responses really did get at me. Nkem, I’m gonna give you an answer—a down right sincere one.
Now babe, you know I call you Nkem—“my own” in your language; and you still love to go by that name most of the time. But, Nkem, have you forgotten all I meant by calling you that name initially? But now, don’t chide yourself hard, babe; perhaps I should really be the one to chide myself, cos the fact of your sincerity and hope against hope in using the name still in the face of doubts really does break me down into jelly paste each time I think about this.
Hmmm, Nkem, don’t see me as a strong man fans see me as on the stage and on TV; baby girl, see me for once as I am—I’m weaker than you are, in fact, babe. You’ve got some inward stamina, some resolve, some real strong will that I you possibly think it’s in this physical build too. Perhaps it’s not what you may be thinking—like, So he sleeps around? But I’ll tell you in the best possible way as it goes on in my flesh, babe.
Talking of loving you, baby girl; I love you and adore you. Sometimes, in fact, I gaze at you and bless God I found you with my pretty controversial persona on TV and in the press. Sometimes I think like Flannel Maria in The Sound of Music that “somewhere in my past or childhood / I must have done something good”—cause “here I am tonight loving you / whether or not I should, / ’cause somewhere in my past or childhood, / I must have done something good.” You know, sometimes, I look at you and I just almost wanna be break down in your arms and let out these tears from pressures from without and from within. But at times I feel like if I strip myself bare and bare these feelings to you, I’ll lose this pride that keeps me as man and be vulnerable perhaps—or at least feel vulnerable. Your sincerity in the letter gave me some more courage and confidence, however, and I feel I’d be better off crying in your laps that in a stranger Delilah’s perhaps.
Don’t look at me as strong Samson, baby; I’m a weak, needy lad on the inside, for real. The persona-me holds shows, masterminds concerts, shows up for Cable TV interviews and features on singles, and accepts multimedia advertisement appearance contracts. But the real me wants soft affection—feminine acceptance, feminine reception, feminine love. I feel fulfilled when “they” love me—not so much as “worship” me as kinda show that they really appreciate me, want me around them, give me real tender attention. Perhaps it was what I didn’t get when I wasn’t this successful—those down times someone was simply a nobody and “on his own.” Now I get so much of what I desire and I feel emotionally refreshed. I get so much of what I desire in my emotional neediness—that my flesh craves sometime even crave for more. And baby, with the fact of my celebrity status it’s so easy to slide right down that any standards set-up you’ve grown a little when you were younger; and babe, it’s always, at least initially, a hard battle of the mind and flesh you have in here!
Don’t look at me as the Samson the strong man, my baby; look at me as your own human who could shake with tears like a woman, but only in the closet. Real men also cry—like women, like children; only not in the open.
Don’t look at me, too, like the fans look, baby girl; look at a man with scars, with undergament wounds, and with base, ordinary-man tendencies too that it takes being in your confidence to avert big moral crash that the media pray for to sell news. Ah baby, I cannot help myself as much as the way you think I am capable. I may be strong on the outside but I’m weak on the inside; and you’re that part of me I seek elsewhere! Baby girl, befriend me, please; protect me, dear; love me, too.
Nkem, be the friendship I look for elsewhere, the girl I never ever wanna lose as friend. Let me find your soft affection, the feminine side of liking, babe. Please be my buddy, girl.
Protect me a little; believe me, so many girls are dying for me and I know that pretty clear. I cherish you and so I’m staying, yes; but when I am weak, baby girl, please protect me just a little more. Be my confidant, sweetheart.
And do some real loving me, too! Spoil me some little; love me keenly, love me only. And be my true love/r forever, Nkem.
I love you still, babe. Happy Valentine.
PS. Lest I forget, dear; you may forward my reply to the editor of that column you sent your letter on this, as an appropriate rejoinder to that post from your letter. Catch you soon, dear.
A personal note from me
Hey my cherished readers,
I trust enjoyed today’s edition and learned a good deal from the letters. But then, while in the spirit of the lovers’ season, I also admonish you to spend the Valentine season in the spirit of true love between soul mates, sweethearts and lovebirds and never abusing the concept of love with base inkling of just gratifying the sex urge. It is no gainsaying that sex waited for until and placed within the confines of marriage and fidelity is fulfilling, uniting and largely unpretentious. What more does a couple desire than a bride and groom meant for just each other with no shady past to keep sweeping under the carpet. It’s hard, but I feel it’s really a hundred times worth waiting for cos money can’t buy the resultant in those couples that everyone will mark with the expressions, “Wow, true love!”
But premarital sex seem to have proven with too many instances of people’s experiences (and that it looks a mess prototype already) to bring along with it unforseen complicatedness, faults and breeches in such sublime psychological and souly tenets of relationship as the trust factor, faithfulness, level of the sanctity perception of marriage and marriage vows, commitment level, and so on. Unwanted pregnancies is the least of all and doesn’t come up in my list—those sound as simply threats to many and if they can avoid that and not the first setof my list, then why ever not? Especially, teenagers think these.
There are pills everywhere that take care of that for you, even post-intercourse (or emergency) contraceptive, fine—but are there pills, I like to think, that prevents from developing addiction to sex when you to expose yourself to something you’ll still have lots of time to do—when you expose yoursef to it quite early and only have to live a mess and shadow of yourself battling with it for years or a lifetime like someone battling wih hard drugs? By this time you feel it’s the in-thing, like being “modern and not ancient”, being ” in touch with the world—or in touch with life”; you’ll enjoy the craze, of course yes; but you might grow to make a pattern of life not so different from the sex worker in a brothel and consequently leaving off pain killers and hard drugs to numb the pain of many penetrations as well as the pain in your soul! My dear, hades or hell is no worse off! That is just plain hell. Nothing’s harder a life, my dear.
Love is sweet and unpretentious, I can say. Let us not cause problems for ourselves, you know, by gratifying every yen in our loins, in our groins. Sometime, it can wait till a time commitment is bounded by a vow and a blessing; till the time two hands are joined among witnesses in the day and their bodies and soul cleave for the first time and in the orgasmic height of intimateness by night.
—Kayode (Dr. H’Artbeats)
Disclaimer: Dr. H'Artbeats Series' stories and characters are fictional accounts meant to be relatable; resemblances to particular person's life stories and events are, therefore, by coincidence. (See past editions of the weekly Dr. H'Artbeats Series HERE.)