Dear September,

An open letter to a beautiful woman.

Balpolam Idi
4 min readSep 4, 2023
Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

It has been a long while since I wrote you or any of your sisters an open letter. They have visited me and with each departure and entrance, came new layers — of open wounds and also healing. I won’t lie. The last time I saw you, I was severely optimistic but a lot happened from the end of October’s visit to now. I have never felt so empty and alone, so afraid. I discovered deeper chasms of confusion and misery.

I don’t know if being unable to articulate the depth of my anguish contributed to me wallowing in it longer, or if it was the perfect condition for the spread of the blight. And spread it did. Over everything in my life, slowly but surely it pervaded every facet. It even coloured my ability to create. Do you know that I have not been visited by happy stories in so many moons?

My entire being has had to heft itself day after day, to show up. I unlocked chambers of sorrow I didn’t know I was capable of visiting. I sat with Apathy and we had a long dialogue. He did not want to leave. Do you know that Ambition moved out of my life for the longest time? It was an ugly breakup. And for the first time in my life, I the dreamer, stopped dreaming. At first, I was afraid, but later on, because I just didn’t know how to. How to do the next right thing. And the most impossible feat of all, to learn to hope again. I am glad my master said these words so many years ago — with man, this is impossible but with God all things are possible. Including learning to hope again.

Photo by Drew Beamer on Unsplash

September, I have been lost before. But back then, I had my eyes on my True North🧭. Everything I knew had to be questioned this time, including my True North. It was like being in a desert storm. Nothing but the sharp, biting sand, carried by the violent winds, the unrelenting echoes of sand against sand for miles and miles. It was sequestering. It was perilous. It was dark.

You know how much I love your sister, August. She always comes with healing rains and this year was no different. She also always comes bearing light and deeper understanding.

Here’s a deep revelation. I believed Olaf. His song in Frozen 2, — It will all make sense when I am older. I didn’t know just how much I believed it until your sister, August, visited. All my life, I always felt too young to know the kind of things I know. I felt like a fraud. One who couldn’t really act her age and yet was still unable to fully be other than her age. Somehow, my younger self said at “25, we would have it all figured out. That is our coming of age. The year of being old enough. Of maturity”. Both my younger self and present self were shocked to discover that the confusion might even be worse than when I was at a career crossroads at 17. Growth is a process, not a destination. It isn’t going to get clearer or smoother just because we are older. It will simply mean that our wealth of experience will help us make more informed decisions.

I remember having a meltdown on the phone with my sister not so long ago and she chuckled and said, “Welcome to adulthood. I am so glad we can talk about this now.” Not that she was not empathic, but she was somewhat consoled that I had made it to this level of growth where she could also freely share her woes and struggles. I felt deep sadness for her. Imagine her loneliness and lack of direction as she first navigated these waters. I don’t know how to thank God for the gift of Rabi, (perhaps I will go ahead and have grandchildren for our mother as a show of good faith) because she has saved me countless times. I am lifted by the sisterhood and friendship we share. Nonetheless, like all of your sisters, we are rarely ever in the same place at the same time and each has her time to take the stage. But our bond is so strong.

Ballie + Rabi at Sky Bar because I am her little lamb that tags along.

September, I am thankful for the gift of your sister, August, and my sister, who came to us during your visit so many years ago. You are a giving woman. Thank you for the new beginnings. For good friends. For healthy relationships.

I hope you embrace us all and bring good tidings. May you bring ease and a spring in our steps. May your laughter bring joy and its echoes into our days. I hope you are sensitive. I hope you replenish. I hope you heal and most importantly that new life blossoms. Please teach me to dream again. Give me sweet dreams. Embrace us all with tranquil arms and help us smile each day.

Love, Ballie 💖

If you enjoyed reading this, please help make this post more visible to those who may like it or learn from it by clapping as many times as you can (50x). What are you looking forward to in September? Love? A new job? Funds? Rest? Please share. I will be looking keenly at the responses.



Balpolam Idi

Live, Love, Give. But most importantly, Dream. Learner. Teacher. Wanderer.