Dear Natalie,

There are times when one must let go. Moments in life when a person needs to realize that something just isn't coordinating--or worse yet, contradicts everything else that defines one's existence--and opt to snip that part out. So now I come to another crux, and I regret to inform you: it's over, toots.

Now, I must admit that my crush on you wasn't as intense as many of the prepubescent (or post-pubescent) boys and girls around me. In high school I didn't snip pictures of you out of magazines to place in my binder cover. In college, I didn't download wallpapers of you to showcase on my dorm computer. To this day, I haven't even watched Episode III. But even still, there was a particular charm about you that enticed me to sit and stare with inkling desire that fated afternoon I passed by my mom watching Where the Heart Is. I've never been big on celebrity crushes, but I knew that if you were able to make me feel such a way even as a knocked-up Walmart queen from Oklahoma, imagine what wonders you could do as not a knocked-up Walmart queen from Oklahoma--which you were (not one)--you were a celebrity, and I had a crush on you.

That last statement was a run-on sentence, Natalie. But it's symmetrical.

What I'm trying to say is that you made the short list of white women I would've been down to marry. And even though that didn't mean that I was going to rush out to the theaters to watch any movies just because you were in them, it did mean that whenever someone asked me, "Hey Adriel...would you ever get with a whitegirl?" I'd reply efficiently, "Natalie Portman." (sometimes I'd just say "NP" or "The Portmeister" around close friends, but even as my close friends they didn't know what I meant until after an awkward silence I said "Natalie Portman").

Some like you for your looks, I think you look aiight. And that's saying a lot, Natalie, since I'm not often attracted to those of the Celtic people. But your characters enthralled me. I thought your character in Garden State was endearing. V For Vandetta's was fierce. Hotel Chevalier's (which I put off going out in Atlanta one night in order to download and watch, mind you) was mysterious, in an "Ooh. She's mysterious" kind of way.

But now, Natalie, I must say good riddance, and a rather disdainful good riddance at that (though I don't know if someone can say "good riddance" dainfully). Why, you might be asking--but probably aren't, since you're rich and famous and don't know who I am. Well, I'd hate to say it has to do with race, but it has to do with race.

See, I came across a clip of you today (rather accidentally, of course), and it just didn't sit well in my stomach. No, that's an understatement. It made me want to heave the insides of myself out through the orifices of my existence. Okay, that's an overstatement. But you get the point. I didn't like what I saw. What did I see, you might be asking--but probably aren't (we went over this already).

What I beheld, dear Natalie, was Hollywood's ugly racist head exposing itself once again, and this time I regret to say it looked chillingly like Princess Amidala. What I saw was this:



What's so bad about that, you might be asking (I really need to stop acting like you're ever really going to read this). I mean, after all, it's just the Crank Dat dance. Everybody does it. The difference is, not everybody has their personal set of "happy feet" to just come out from backstage to merrily teach them, NATALIE. Oh how pink and happy you looked to have Soulja Boy scoot on through to show Ms. Natalie how to do that dance them folks on the street is doing, as Ryan Seacrest or whoever he is hoots in the background, "Look! He's already dancing!" And then you had the nerve, after he busted his balls to share his dance with you, to scowl him on his craft, like "You've gotta go slow, man!" I'm sure in your head, you had another word for him than "man" (probably "boy." Maybe because his name's Soulja BOY, maybe because discrimination still exists in the hearts of many). Hmmm...does this whole affair remind you of any old movies, NATALIE??



SURELY, Natalie, you of all people should know better than that. Well, not of all people, but you know, among many white people. Maybe your next movie should be V for Voluntarilyperpetuatingminstrelsy. Rated R. For Racist.

I know, I know, it's not like you meant to be racist. In fact, I'm 85--well, 75% sure you weren't backstage at TRL like, "Bring over a black guy to teach me how to daaaaance!" And it's not like you slapped a Mexican, or spit at a Korean, or tickled a Columbian (though tickling a Columbian probably isn't that racist. I'm not very familiar with the culture). But my point to you--and all cute white girls for that matter--is that colored folks aren't here for you to just call on whim in order to up your street cred points. That goes for you and your Soulja Boys, Gwen Stefani and her Harajuku Girls, and Angelina Jolie and her Cambodian/Ethiopian babies (I swear, girl! It looks like you have half of iLL-Literacy up in your stroller!)

In conclusion, I'm sure you're a nice person, and you play cool characters in movies. But regardless, I have to tear down the poster of you that I've had scotch-taped on the wall...OF MY MIND. You have plenty of duck-hunting-12-year-old boys from middle America to continue to fill your fanbase, and one yellow Skittle out of your candy bowl won't stunt your flava. I just hope you'll one day realize how much you've hurt me, and how much you've hurt America. Hey Natalie--taste the PAINBOW.

You ex-fan (and no, "Fan" isn't my last name, you bigot),
Adriel Luis



PS: You were so much more hip-hop back in the day.