Dear Mother,
I wish warm salutations up on you, mother. I hope death is a cool place. I would dislike it to be hot for you. I believe I have obtained my dislike for hot climates from you, for I certainly did not obtain it from father.
I am sorry, Mother, that this must be the first letter. I would like to go back and rewrite my previous journal entries to be a letter to you, but father burned them and I cannot remember them. I had the habit of not bothering to remember after I had written it down. Then again, empty drivel of endlessly asking the same question of 'Why did you die?' is not becoming and is merely the dribble of a child with a childish mind. Other questions, such as asking why father beat me is not a question worth answering anymore, not just because the answer is so simple as to say 'because he is a fool', but also because he won't be a problem any longer and to ponder on useless questions is pointless.
All the same, Master Treya has answered some of my questions that father refused (usually before another round of attempts on my life) and has told me that the dead are no longer limited by the limits of the physical mind. This pleases me. So I have restarted my journals over as a letter to you, knowing that you may know that I am talking to you in at least one manner. I have heard of customs in faraway lands where you go to a grave and talk to it. That is pointless and a waste of time. If you have no limits, than here is as good as there. It is also because of this that I know you know of father and I trust you are pleased. I would much prefer you were alive so I could have a response, but I hope this pleases you none of the less. Is it boring being dead? I'll have to ask.
Master Treya is a Jedi Master that found me at home and has taken me away to a 'Jedi Order'. She is a person of great wisdom, I can tell. For instance, she remarked that my manner of speech is unusual for my peers. I speak with more intelligence than most, and this will scare them. She says communication is not about using words that people cannot understand in a way that is odd, but about creating common understanding between people, and so I must speak on their level because the odds of them spontaneously understanding my speech is unlikely. Is it really my fault that I read so much in father's house? Must I lower myself because of it?
Master Treya still wants me to speak as I wish with her, and with those of my peers that come to understand me in time, but that I am to have a 'dumber' first impression so as to not 'burn bridges' at every impasse. That or be silent. I think I prefer silence.
The Jedi Temple is in sight. Master Treya is insistent I pack up. I shall return later.
Nitheal.