Letter #9 from UPIII



Recieved 26th June 2018

abc Rhineland: UPIII is writing about letters who are not getting through. We don’t know by now, which letters didn’t get through to us. However, the letters need up to three weeks (or even more) to arrive. From the first seven letters (all sent at the same date) letter #7 arrived one week later than the first six.

JVA Köln, 11th June 2018

Hey hey Hambi (I feel like that sounded better in my head than on paper, anyway let me continue -)

I’m not sure how many of my letters you will recieve, or if you will recieve them, so I thought I’d just start to send a big bunch and maybe you might get one.

Three months soon, wow time really flies (slowly, are all the clocks in prison slow? I swear every hour feels like at least two) by huh? Crazy.

I hope you’re all okay, I miss you terribly. How are thing there? What have you been up to) that I’m allowed to read about… hmm?)

It’s now been two months since I’ve seen a tree without a sheet of glass in front of it. Like a real tree.

I got into trouble with a guard for having the visit photos on the wall. Oh wow, SO dangerous, too many colours, I’m too happy, “why am I sill a UP, don’t I want to ID myself and use the “exit door”? (Mate, its been nearly three months. If I was going to give up I would have by now.)

I just want to have some colour in my sterile shitty shoebox. A little colour. A bit of resist (is it “ence” or “ance”? My only language is English and I still can’t fucking spell for fucks sake). Fuck. But yeah, I will resist.

The satisfaction of little “fuck you’s”.

To the guards and post control human who will also read this, imagine living in an 8m² box 23+ hours a day because some other human said you have to. You’d be pissed off too. Don’t take it personally (or do, I mean, that’s not my decision). I’m sure you’re okay, and some other nicely worded shit that doesn’t make you chuck my letters in the trash.

Again. Anyhow, to the guards/post control, hope you’re having a lovely day in freedom, how does it taste in your mouth the feel in your soul, knowing that I could be a friend, a sister, someone you care about and yet you sneer at my title – UPIII – like I’m a speck of filth on the carpet?

Many who read this have never met me, so how do you know I’m not a friend? I am just like you. I am a daughter. A friend. A sister – or I could be a brother and son. You don’t even address me by gender. Who am I to you, those who sit behind a desk laughing that I stay silent? Do you think I am dangerous? Crazy? Do you think I deserve to be here, when all I did was stand up for those who can’t stand for themselves, as I’m sure you would for your friends, your family?

If your parent lost the ability to speak, would you allow them to be abused, or would you defend them and tell the abuser that what they are doing is wrong?

Am I wrong to want to bring a little more love into the world, when there is so much hate, greed, malice and suffering?

Do I deserve to be here, day after day, three months nearly, and for what I can only assume many more, for loving too much? For caring too much? For wanting a world for YOUR children to live in, where they won’t be watching the earth crumble around them because of OUR mistakes?

I am here because I want YOUR children to see forests, to walk by unpolluted rivers, to look up at blue sky, to smell the freshness of the breeze after rain, to see animals not just in textbooks, to feel wonder at all the amazing things beyond these prison walls.

So, to those who read this that are against me, please tell me why my letters do not go through.

I am a human, just as you are. I feel pain, I feel joy, I cry, I laugh, I hurt and I cherish.

I write these letters to my friends, who worry about me as yours worry about you. People who have never met me write to me, to tell me I am not alone, so can my letters telling them “thank you” please arrive?

Imagine yourself, alone for over twenty hours a day. Would you not find comfort knowing someone is thinking about you? And comfort in knowing they know you’re thinking about them too?

Imagine, for me, that you know nothing of your friends, your family, for months. Like you’re in a war zone, sitting in a dark, dimly lit basement, the sound of banging heard day and night. Torch flashes through the window. Surrounded by people where only one or two might be able to hold a conversation in your language. The isolation. The void of the unknown.

If I was in your place, laughing at your name, about to throw your ONLY means of connection to your family and friends in the trash, what would you say to me? Would you plead? Cry? Beg perhaps?

But what if you couldn’t see me, as I’m sure post control can’t. Would you still laugh, and toss the letters, knowing what it means to me? Surely, as a parent, or sibling, a friend, you would want to hear from the ones you love, would want them to hear from you.

So, my dear Hambi, I love you. I hope this letter, as I know others haven’t reaches you. Thank you for your letters. I’m so glad to hear you are all okay and well.

I miss you terribly. I miss the fresh air, birdsong, the feeling of sunlight warming my skin. I sit here, for US in the hope of a better future. “For those I love, I will sacrifice.”

From the start, the moment I arrived, I was inspired by you and over the days grew to love all of you, who are so wonderfully unique and so kind and thoughtful, whatever came I would stand beside you.

And so I did, and continue to do. For your genuine care of a stranger, even for such a short time, I will not stop fighting.

For the forest, for the future, for us. Stay brave.


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