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Written by Isabella Soto

Dear Nina;

I'll tell you even if you can’t hear me. I’ll try to resonate and widen my voice to be a megaphone that reaches wherever you are in time and space. I hate the word and concept of minorities. Lately people have been using this particular term to establish that people should be categorized into groups by their characteristics, physical or mental aptitudes and determine the privilege they are to have and the rights they are and must be granted. I hate how people want to be part of the group so badly just for them to have more reasons to complain. I hate the fact that you aren’t here to defend them, defend us. To be fair, it's funny to think about how most of the time you spent living you tried to preach fairness destroying the concept of minority groups and now people die to think for them to be considered part of a community.

Dear Nina;

As a woman, I’ve always felt empowered by your lyricism but most of all your composition, in other words I’m fascinated by the way the chords of a song are transcribed into words and are perfectly coherent. However, the drizzle of syrup to the pile of pancakes is the sound and comfort of the raspiness of tone, your tone. Your voice, oh so unique voice captures the essence of jazz and soul that soothes and makes sound melodically even the most gruesome lyrics. I feel represented in your storytelling, the way you handle topics to represent both sides of a crowd or argument, but most importantly the way you try to become a voice for everyone that lives through conditions different to yours. I feel a distinctive connection to your play of words, to you as an influential artist in music, as a woman as well. Nevertheless, even though I do look up to you, you are not a good person, you are, you were, misunderstood. You committed actions, faults, and mistakes and blamed it on your mental health, on your mind, on your sanity. That is not okay. You started somewhere and were thrown around by life, your supposed loved ones, fans, and haters and I get it was hard but it was never an excuse.

Dear Nina;

Are you proud? Are you proud as an artist of what you accomplished? Are you proud as a mother? Are you proud as a citizen? As a human? Where are we right now? Are you proud of yourself as a woman, as an ideal to other women? Of course you deserved more, and that is why others carry out your legacy. I wish you could hear me, yelling from the world of the living that you suffered but it does not exempt you from your actions.

Dear Eunice:

I would call you Nina but you know you aren’t her. You are not the perfect Paris actress, or the “chica” your boyfriend used to call you. You were a troubled individual who needed a safe place and found it in music, in the melodies, the chords, the verses. I’ll tell you even if you can’t hear me. You were heard.

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