This is for you, Kim Jong Un.
I have this thing I do. Whenever there is a horrible tragedy in the news, I go directly to the pictures. There is something in me that needs to see, rather than just read someone else’s words and assumed reasonings for the perpetrations. I have this need to look and dig deeper, way down through the eyes, into the has-to-have-one soul, analyzing everything in every single pixel. I stare and lose myself in thought.
I can take a picture in my head and rip it down to the bare minimum. I have this ability to create in my mind a past for someone, filled with circumstances and scenarios I am not even sure of how I come up with in my imagination. I picture the person from start to finish, beginning to current time, and all the life happenings along the way.
For example…Remember Aaron Hernandez? He was the pro NFL football player, who, while on trial for murder, hanged himself alone in his jail cell. Alone. Solitary, seemingly without a friend in the world. Just a cold-blooded murderer who once had it all, and now was just remembered as another thug of a guy who squandered his glory and gone bad. Dead. Done.
I?
I would and did obsess over his childhood pictures with his brother. Playing ball together. Laughing. Giggling while on the carport eating watermelon in a soiled rugby shirt with their dad in the background. I saw happiness and giddiness in his eyes. The dreams of a young kid living the life. From baby to toddler to young stud playing the beloved game of football. And then something obviously went wrong. And there it was. The pictures in the paper and on the web. It said it in the eyes.
So….you.
I’ve seen pictures of you. I’ve seen you on the news. Walking, talking and…smiling. I’ve seen your big picture hanging somewhere on a wall next to some other guy, a relative, I think, and I do not have the inclination to reserarch futher who that is, because all I see is your smile.
And it sickens me to no end.
A smile on a man, an animal, an evil being…comes across as such a farce. Phony as hell. Makes me sick in the head and the gut.
I hear you like basketball. So do we over here in the United States. We love it as a matter of fact. And we come together to revel in the games. As a nation, many times on opposing sides, but still taking part in the thrill of the game.
Yes…we come together, because we can.
Currently, we have a leader who not everyone in our country appreciates. And we have even had some less-than-intelligent citizens post disparaging pictures and say some very unpatriotic things about this man.
But here’s the thing:
We have something called the Constitution, and all kinds of amendments which go along with it. It saves us from fearing our leader, allowing us, however misinformed, to speak our minds and offer our opinions without fear of prosecution, harm, or in the worst way…death. We are Americans. We have a leader. One who values life for all, even those who disagree with him, or those who are in the minority.
We do not fear our current leader, nor have we in the past of those who governed before him. Some of us may not like him, but we do not fear him. We are not TOLD what to to do from one man or woman…rather, we are led and are a part of the plan. Systems and balances.
Your country fears you. But looking at your cold eyes, I can see you probably like that. You inherited your power as that of a sniveling little brat. You don’t lead…you intimidate. I see your army, your stiff-legged marching minions marching beside you, and I look. I stop the video and freeze frame and pinch and zoom into the whites of their eyes. Not an ounce of joy do I see.
I would love to put a camera up in just one of their homes without them knowing. I would love to hear the hushed whispers as they speak to others about how they hate you, and don’t respect a single thing you do. Sure, I’m no idiot….and I know the majority of all of you are so far gone you have no idea what you believe anymore, so the tyranny continues under your tiny little minutiae-in-stature self.
I hope you are reading this somehow. My letter to you is in response to your treatment of our American citizen, Otto Warmbier. He was one of us. And I would love for you to feel you have messed with the wrong country. I don’t fear your ugly little ass, and God knows I would never visit your disgusting little country, so I have nothing of which to be afraid. You can’t touch me.
You, the little boy who maybe once wore a ball cap, or a t-shirt with a truck on it, as you ran around the school yard playground, smiling and laughing. Maybe if I saw a picture of you I could look deep into your own, now hard, despicable and cold dark eyes, and figure out where and why it all went wrong.
But I won’t waste my time on giving a care about you. You are the face of a wimp, and do not command attention, but rather demand in your own diminutive way.
I hope you get yours.
Sincerely,
Jennifer Ann Welsh Summe
American Citizen
jensumandthensome 