It’s thirty-one minutes past midnight and I’m slowly starting to feel like this was a bad idea. There’s a song by some country band playing in the background that wants to carry me away in the wings of its melody and there are a couple of mosquitos that are rejoicing on the skin of my naked arms. Sleep beckons from the next room and I’m almost tempted to go. But I know you won’t let me. I’m already two days late so I will not let me either. I don’t care if it’s three hundred words, I know I have to do this. It is the only thing I want to do right now. To sit here and feed these mosquitos as I bleed out all over these letters. Without shame and without fear of consequence.
And so we begin. With a new song and the same empty load, I will tell you what it is I think you want to hear.
I don’t feel twenty-three at all. I have no recollections of the previous lives I’ve led so I don’t know how twenty-three is supposed to feel like but I am certain that this ain’t it. I feel a thousand years old and yet still so inadequate and still so foolish. I feel like two decades is a fraction of a second in time but at the same time, I feel like I’ve been running a marathon since day one. So little time and so much weariness. So little done and yet so exhausted. It’s like my whole existence is a paradox that I am never going to solve. However, if there’s something that you and all the others have taught me is acceptance. That together with forgetfulness. At this point, there is nothing that would be so hard to accept and forget. So, thank you, mother of all coping mechanisms. Thanks to you, I might still be able to live a couple more years like a functional member of society.
I remember asking your predecessor to stay a little longer last year. I remember pleading with him to be kinder and to be gentler. To be softer and to be longer. Some of that he was and some he wasn’t. So I’m not going to ask you of the same things. I don’t know if I still want those same things anyway and I’m not sure what I would do with you if you took your sweet time dragging by. That is just another subtle way of the universe reminding me of how cruel change can be. It disregards all you experiences, all your expectations and all your hopes and it happens almost overnight. So that you wake up in a strange place with only the slightest clue of how to survive. I have come to accept it too and to wash it off my system with a little bit of the consistent but sometimes, at night, I lose the fight and then my nails become weapons and my body becomes the target. This is where I am now.
So, let’s see. What do I want from you? I hope it is not impolite to say nothing. I just don’t want to overburden you like last time and have to take sips of disillusionment next year at a time like now. On second thought however, maybe there are a few things you could come with; a big bag of patience for my locks and for my heart, a little bit of stupid luck for my grades and travel plans and finally, an old classic 504 Peugeot or a hippie Voxy van because my dear, this year is going to be a trip.