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Writer's pictureHeather Jerrie

Dear Enemy


It's 2 a.m., and I've been lying awake for hours. I know why, too - I watched the news before I went to bed. Now I'm staring at the ceiling with my stomach churning, my mind on an endless treadmill of fear and outrage, while the long hours tick by.


And you know what? I'm lying here hating you. I've never met you, but somehow, little by little, you became my enemy.


At first I just didn't understand you. How could you DO that? I'd wonder. I'd ask other people, and they'd shake their heads and agree. You see, we all thought the same way. There wasn't anyone one to speak up for you, since I've joined this herd of fellow thinkers. We all agreed to stay away from you, you see.


Then I started to feel superior to you. You were so foolish and naive! You've been duped, I'd think, by the cunning people at the top. You were just one of the sheep, too dumb to see how you were nudging us to the edge of the cliff. We needed to save our country from your idiocy.


And when things got worse and worse, somewhere in the endless tide of bad news, blame washed in, and I began to hate you.


YOU were the problem. YOU needed to be taught better. YOU are ruining our world, smashing my country under your heels. YOU are somewhere out there, cheering in rallies that make me sick and disgusted, and when I watch you waving your sign and chanting, I feel coils of hatred wrap around my heart.


How can I feel this way? I've always thought of myself as a 'nice' person. I like people, usually. If I saw you on the street, we'd probably smile and nod. You might hold the door for me, going into the store. I'd say thank you. We'd comment on the weather. We're neighbors, after all.


But here I am, lying in the dark, hating you.


I try to breathe slowly, turn over, think of pleasant things. No good. I try to relax, but I can't - not with this cold rock sitting on my chest.

It's so heavy, this pain and fear and helpless fury. Too heavy. Suddenly I know I just can't do it. I'm sick, and I can't heal myself. I'm weighed down, and I can't carry this burden anymore.


It's time, past time, to give it over. So I take a deep breath and I pray:

God, I'm sorry. I've been hating Your children, people that are part of my family. I've been blaming them for all of my country's problems and denying my own part in it all. I've stood in judgment, sure that I'm right and they're wrong. I've built a wall out of my hatred and pain, shutting them out of my heart.

I don't know what You will do with our sad world, but I do trust You can make me better, because You have so many times before. So please, take my rage and my pain and my fear. Heal me. Help me change.


The tightness in my chest loosens a little bit, and I suddenly think, I wonder if there's someone lying somewhere, hating me.


I wonder what she's like. What's her name?


Does she worry about paying her bills? Does she have kids?


Maybe she's taking care of her elderly mom. Maybe she comes home tired after a long day, and then goes out to work a second job.


And maybe right now, somewhere, she's weeping, looking into the night, feeling discouraged and hopeless.


And at that, the coil of hatred slowly loosens and falls away, and I feel something else: Pity. Concern. Love.


God, I pray, take care of her, whoever she is. Keep her close and help her.

Dear Enemy, I'm writing to say I'm sorry. We're neighbors, you and I, and I've lost sight of that, in all the quarreling and insults. I've forgotten that we both want our world to be better, each of us on our side of the wall. I think I'm going to try to take down some of my stones, one by one, until I can see you better. I think I need to shout less, and listen more, and try to find some common ground with you.

You know what? I think I can sleep now. And in the morning, I'll start.


And the first thing I'll do is ask you your name.


Good night.

Your Neighbor

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