Dear Aliens
Well, the Dear Aliens contest results came out, and I didn’t win. Maybe you will enjoy my submission. Here it is:
Dear Aliens,
I was beginning to think you wouldn't come back for me. I forgive you. After all, you must have had a good reason for leaving me with the humans.
I wish you had left me with something, though. Something, anything, to act as a reminder I’m not from this planet. My earliest memories were all on Earth. I didn’t immediately realize I was different. As I got older, I began to notice the signs. The way people use their eyes as drill bits, it’s not in my nature. It’s so exposing. Most of my childhood, I fought the urge to shrink down and cry anytime an adult fixed their gaze on me. “Don’t mind him. He’s just shy,” my mother would say, with my face buried in her shirt. It didn’t help that I was effectively mute. Anyone outside my immediate family probably wouldn’t recognize the timbre of my voice. With the clarity of hindsight, I now understand it was my natural defense mechanism. I was a cockatoo. I observed and listened and parrotted back.
Of course, I was a bright student. I had a muscle for learning, exercised by the assimilation I was enduring, unbeknownst to me. Humans make herculean efforts to teach science and mathematics to their young. I guess these subjects are not intuitive to many of them. Language was a bit more challenging for me, although I was still lauded as “having a way with words.” It was ironic, considering I felt difficulty articulating my thoughts and emotions. There must be some incompatibility between my alien sensory receptors and English. I’m embarrassed I can’t write to you in our mother tongue. A child with Spanish-speaking parents who doesn’t learn the language is called a “no sabo kid.” I wonder, do you have an equivalent term to describe me? I wonder what you called me, or if you even settled on a name. Everclear’s “Father of Mine” echoes in my brain: “My daddy gave me a name. Then he walked away.” It has been my experience that music is the richest form of human expression. I doubt you’ll enjoy Weezer’s Blue Album as much as I do, but I’ll play it for you anyway. “The World Has Turned And Left Me Here” is particularly apt.
I assure you I’m not meandering; this brings me to the reason I’m writing you. Obviously by now, word has gotten out that you will be visiting Earth imminently. Media outlets across languages and cultures are speculating about the motivations behind your sudden desire to have a sleepover on this side of the universe. Are you here to finally eradicate humanity like the insects we are? Have you come to plunder our valuable resources? Maybe it’s innocuous. You’re coming to share technology with us, or you’re curious about the nuclear blasts. Perhaps our pyramids could use a touch up. Of course, I know the truth. I am in the unique position to be aware that you left something behind, decades ago. Someone. You’re here to pick me up.
I don’t mean to alarm you, I just want to warn you about humanity’s ignorance regarding the purpose of your travel. Not to mention, Earthlings don’t have much of a unified representative. They’re already having a field day at the United Nations anticipating your arrival. The good news is: I can act as a go-between. I’m sure we’ll have an easier time communicating, given our shared biology. Plus, it will give us an opportunity to make up for lost time. Then, I’ll introduce you to the homo sapiens.
So here’s what I propose: we’ll have a bonfire. I want to show you the beauty of this planet and its inhabitants, rather than some stuffy boardroom. It will be a potluck, so bring some dishes to share and I’ll ensure we do the same. Every culture on Earth has a unique cuisine and a historical precedent of bonding over shared meals. The same goes for music. You already know my thoughts on music as the ultimate communicative medium. I’ll organize a sampling of live acts, and if all goes well, we’ll be dancing the night away. It’ll be a wonderful little intergalactic summit, and the next day we can have a more formal seminar to answer any pressing questions we have about each other. At that point, I think it will be best if you take me home. We should give humanity some time to digest the whole ordeal.
I can’t wait to learn our language and try our food and meet my family and all the other experiences I’ve been missing out on. I hope you can teach me to shapeshift out of my human form as well. I’ve spent my entire life as an alien, trapped and misunderstood. When I got the news you had made contact, I was euphoric. I had nearly given up hope that I would ever have the opportunity to live as it was intended of me. All those nights feeling lost and alone, I knew there had to be some sort of explanation. I just knew I was not like them. Now I finally know the truth: I am not from here. I am one of you.
Oh, and I have one small favor to ask: can you let the humans know I’m an alien too? I’ve tried to tell them, but they don’t believe me.
See you soon.
Love,
Aiden