Friday, July 11th, 2014
Carta de un amigo:

April 18, 2014  3:31 Kyoto

We need to talk.
I am angry. I am very fucking angry. I have been angry ever since that day in Geneva Airport.
I hate it. I absolutely hate it. I hate being this angry, I hate that I cannot let go of such a petty and annoying state of mind, and I’m starting to believe that it won’t go away until I get it out of my system.
My watch broke.
Well, not my watch itself, but that plastic buckle it has on the wristband. I bought that watch in a Swatch shop february last year, while you and Ana María watched on.

You piece of shit.
Why did I ever bother? God I was always so fucking naïve. I used to think that certain things are forever and that each and every day leading up to a day as today might be the day we learn everything there is to ourselves and others. I always thought the same thing, what an arrogant and pathetic human being you were. I still think of it today, and I want you to understand that I mean no wrong by it, nor any other anger that I now hold. You are arrogant and pathetic. As am I. As are 3 other billion people on this Earth.
You know why I’m angry? Because right now you’re thinking some belated shit about me or how I’m just being myself in a usual dramatic or over superfluous fashion, of how I can’t get over certain things in my life, anything from bullying trauma, my mother or my complete social inadequacy.
Well you know what?

Fuck you. 
I say that with the most heartfelt affect and respect. Seriously.
I have come to realize, over somewhat more than a year, some things about myself and my idea of yourself that have become an obstacle in my goal to reach a peace of mind that has now become that which I wish for the most at this point in my life. What do I mean? What do I hope to gain from this message that will most surely be either discarded by your carelessness or discovered  2 weeks after it was received?
I think I want my friend back, or at least what I thought my friend was. And if I ever dare say so, the only brother I ever had.
I expected too much. It was my fault. I was such a fucking idiot in believing that you, of all people, could actually be the friend I thought you were. Mind you, I don’t really think you did anything wrong. You have ever since we first rode on the Corsa been a guy with whom I have been at ease like I’ve never been. Never could I have asked for better company in many of the days of my life. Days that I would have otherwise spent alone. Truly alone. 

I never really knew if you truly know what that means. I don’t think you’ve ever been alone in your life. Ever, and God forbid you ever be. And that’s why I began having doubts. Do you know what its like to have a friend? I thought you did. I did. If you were another of the many jerks I have come across in my life then I would have perfectly known that in fact, no, you do not know what it is like to have a friend. But no, you, and that is one of the few things I know for certain, are different in that sense. For all the time I’ve known you (I haven’t known you for the last year), you seemed to know. You seemed to care. You seemed to be my friend.

Holy shit I hope I am SO wrong right now and that this is just me being absurdly paranoid.
While I don’t know if you know what it is like to have a friend, I most certainly know you don’t know what it’s like to lose one. Tell me, have you ever lost a friend? Lost as in the sense of what was once a bond of trust, respect and affection is then gone. If you don’t, then surely you don’t know what remains. 
I thought better of you, man. I always did. I swore that by your pedantic and caustic demeanor was a human being as flawed as any other, as flawed as myself. I thought you cared. I thought that you really worried about us and that we were as important to you as you were to us.
Perhaps. Perhaps I’m dead wrong and you did care, you do care. If I have learned from myself and others, I can be wrong. Very wrong.
The thing is, I don’t think I’m wrong. I don’t really see signs that I am.

Forgive me.
I made decisions and actions that in hindsight were not fair. I made them selfishly and with no objective other than to benefit myself. 
I let go.
But in all due honesty I didn’t want to.
But, you made me, man.

It all started with Villa de Leyva (What the actual fuck), and ended with Orlando (I will never forgive you for that. Seriously). The person I began to see was not the one I though you to be. And I’m not talking about the disgusting troll that made us laugh so many times. This person did not seem to care if I (or any other person for that matter) were to simply walk out of his life and not look back. I thought to myself “Are we really that worthless to you? Are we really as disposable as you make us out to be?”I let go as a call of attention, that while childish and selfish, was absolutely sincere. I simply…stopped making an effort. If you really were my friend then you would have made the effort to not to let any friend drift away. In the last year or so I would’ve have sworn you, as with many other things in your life, just didn’t care.

But, I kept on thinking, and from the moment I left Geneva that february to an hour ago when I got back to my apartment from Sanjo Kiyamachi, where I had dinner with a bunch of Italians, I have come to realize that you, as a aware and conscious person that lives in his own reality, time and space, make your own decisions and set your life on a path that may indeed not cross mine again, I realize that, as I said, I have not been fair to you.

I want to thank you. Thank you for Switzerland, thank you for all those hours you chose to spend hanging out with me, thank you for being one of the very few people who I can actually trust my life with, thank you for letting me into your home and sharing your food with me, thank you for teaching me about life in so many ways I never would have learned, thank you for letting me go and see places with you.

Thank you for being my friend.
I have lived in anger this last year.  Somehow I still am, but I can feel it going away as I write this.
There were indeed, moments when I really thought you just didn’t care anymore. 
Dude, you went to Finland after I left.
You broke my heart. I hated your guts.

But afterwards, I just realized that you simply make your own choices. And for some reason which I guess I’ll have to understand, you didn’t go while I was there. 
I haven’t answered your messages or seem disposed to talk that one time you called because I still don’t think you care. And I might be dead wrong, you might care as much or more than me just that as any other person you show that differently, and I have perceived it incorrectly.
If you truly don’t care then you’re in your right. I trust you to be smart about it. If I have learned something about you is that I really shouldn’t expect anything from you. Again, I must admit that I write this for incredibly selfish reasons, for it will give me a tranquility I really want. I hope you can find the kindness to forgive me.

My watch is still broken. Well, not my watch itself, but that plastic buckle it has on it’s wristband. I found a Swatch store in Shijo Kawaramachi where perhaps I can get it repaired, I might be going soon.
My apartment in Kyoto is open, and it would be my pleasure yo have you over anytime you want.
You don’t really have to answer this if you don’t want to. But I will ask you the courtesy to let me known you’ve read it. 

Good day.

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