Where do I even start, Mthandeni? There are so many things I want to say, so many profanities I want to scream, but as I sit here, drafting this letter to you, words escape me.

My therapist, Ms Tonder, said confronting my past may help me understand my present, and plan my future. I believe the past should be left where it belongs, but apparently, not when it comes to you, Mthandeni.

As I sit in my dimly lit office, my kids call it “The Private Room” I ponder in wild thoughts. I guess the reason they call it that, is because I never let anyone inside my office. Not even my wife. Oh, Mthandeni, I forgot to tell you that I married. Her name is Ayabongwa. She’s so humble, and respectful. She bore me three beautiful and intelligent kids. Two boys, one girl.

I married Ayabongwa as soon I graduated university. She is a plastic surgeon, and I work as a marketing director in her father’s tech solutions company. Nepotism at its best, huh?

I guess, you wouldn’t appreciate me working for my in laws, considering the traditional, rich and prideful man you are, Mthandeni.

You know, my second born son, Njabulo, reminds me of you. He is always trying to learn his clan names, his heritage, and even though we live in the urban times, and speak English 24/7, he knows isiZulu like he goes to a public school. Last night, I saw him trying to “ukusina” (traditional dance) and I remembered you teaching me that dance, when I was 9. Before, you turned into the monster I loathed and vowed to never go back to, when I got independent.

Time moves by fast, huh? I can’t believe that I, Avethandwa Zulu, your first born, your son, is now 34 and so much like you that I hate it!