Dear Natasha,
Can I call you that? Just kidding, of course I can. I do what I want. And unlike some people, I know that “Natasha” is a diminutive of the name Natalia in Russian, and hence it is not incorrect for me to call you that. Especially because I feel so close to you (my secret police may or may not be parked outside your apartment building right now).
I am a man of wealth and taste. In order to keep my wealth and indulge my taste, I currently run a brutal dictatorship in a foreign country — but, like any normal foreign dictator, I also like to spend my money in the West (I may or may not be due for a secret meeting at Trump Tower shortly).
I know what you’re thinking right now, “This man is amazing and I’m so lucky to have him write to me.” And you ARE lucky, except the reason for my writing is a sad one. I feel lonely. Ever since I had my wife poisoned and replaced with a lookalike in a permanent fugue state from sheer terror, life has not been the same. I can still have as much sex as I want — I don’t even have to have my joke of a government rubber stamp a law making it illegal to refuse sex with Dear Leader — but it just doesn’t feel the same. I want to be loved, but everyone says I am too terrifying and have bad taste in haircuts. I mean, they don’t say it out loud, but I know they’re thinking it.
Is there a way out for men like me? Aside from having this “government” of mine rubber stamp a law on making it illegal to not love Dear Leader back and making it super illegal to think mean thoughts about his haircut?
Sincerely,
Despondent Despot
Dear Despondent,
Thank you for writing me. I was wondering who those guys in the weird, unmarked van are. I assumed they were sitting around and waiting for a drug deal to go down. It’s very comforting to know that they are merely armed to the teeth spies.
Love has many mysterious properties. It’s even more complicated than nuclear reactors and elaborate torture techniques. As human beings, we never fully understand love — certainly not in the way that we are able to understand how the human body is affected by being forced to stand on its toes in a tank full of water for up to 24 hours as the water edges ever closer to the nose. Do you know why? Love is unquantifiable, yet undeniably present among us. Sort of the way various surveillance gadgets are probably present in my apartment by this point.
My advice to you — aside from please don’t kidnap me and put me in a labor camp to occasionally be trotted out to entertain your generals at party dinners — is to understand what being loved means to you. Is it sort of like the rush you get when you feed a dissident to a bunch of artificially starved wolverines? Is it more similar to the quiet satisfaction of thoroughly owning the sentient wig currently deemed with the task of being the leader of the free world? (Whatever THAT means anymore)
I hate to answer a question with a question — and I honestly would NOT do well in a labor camp, it would be hell on my complexion for one thing, and I do have a good one, and frankly good complexions are a terrible thing to waste — but the journey toward love is always a journey toward self-discovery. So please don’t think of this as me questioning you, for you must never be questioned, and your authority is absolute in all things, including… What were we talking about? Oh yes, love.
As much as it is important to get to know yourself, it is equally important to get to know your potential partners. I know what you’re thinking — “Torture them until they reveal all about themselves.” It’s one option, but it’s proven to be unreliable and inefficient (and is ALSO hell on the complexion, though I have no firsthand experience of it, and would really like to NOT have firsthand experience of it). Please don’t mind the fact that a bunch of people on our capitalist pigdog TV channels are currently advocating for it all over again, they’re confused in the way that only having a sentient wig for a president can get confusing/disorienting/morally difficult.
Anyway, asking questions over dinner is much less labor intensive and much more productive than torture. These questions can be varied and don’t always have to include bits such as, “WHICH ONE OF YOUR COUSINS IS A SECRET WESTERN SYMPATHIZER?”
Love is also about understanding that we are all fallible and capable of hypocrisy. Our media is the perfect example of this, and yours would be too, if you had need of a media. So is our desire to be a beacon to the rest of the world at a time when we’re refusing to accept refugees and tearing up climate change initiatives. It’s sort of like when you get up and talk about the undying love your people have for you while at the same time… You know what, never mind. This is a complicated topic and I don’t want to be killed with a nerve agent in an airport.
Humility CAN go a long way in love. It doesn’t mean you can’t build another giant, gold statue of yourself either. It can mean… building a giant, gold statue of your partner too?
Anyway, that’s all I have. I’ve run out of things to say. Please do read my response from the top again, so that I may have time to make it outside via my fire escape. I realize that this announcement comes pretty suddenly, but I’ve actually decided to become a Mars colonist. Transmissions may take some time to reach me now, but staring at the tiny blue dot that is going to be Earth for me from now on may inspire me to pen a more thorough explanation about what love is really all about, so, please, just, uh, tell the boys in the van to go to the artisanal chocolatier on the corner for the time being. Yes, I know, it’s another capitalist pigdog establishment, but they do say that chocolate shares certain chemical properties with the feelings love inspires in us. Or was it sex? I don’t know. Never mind. Let’s discuss this next year, when I am safely on a different planet.
Sincerely,
Natalia “Please Don’t Kill Me” Antonova
Are you in need of some love advice? You can write to Aunt Natalia c/o editor at globalcomment.com or request a courier drop through your secret service of choice.
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