dear baby boy,

I call you baby boy because you call me baby prada. it’s easy like that. but that’s not how I wanted to start this letter even though it seems to be the best possible way because the things I am about to tell you (without actually telling you) could use a little lightening up. if that makes any sense. please bear with me as I type out the words; sometimes carefully structured, sometimes entirely written without thinking. I am sorry I am so complicated and hard to love. if you love me. because honestly I don’t know. at times I feel I don’t belong to your world. or maybe you don’t belong to mine. or it’s bullshit. anyway. I am sorry for doubting you. I am sorry if I am hurting you in any way because truly do not mean to. I wish I spoke french fluently. I think if I did I would know more about you, I would understand you better. because sometimes I don’t know what your expectations are. I want to stop debating with you. I say debate because you don’t like the word fight and neither do I. you keep saying, but you like this. no, I don’t. I really don’t. I cannot even tell you how much I hate it when we get into one of our discussions and never stop. also, sorry, I am yelling sometimes. it’s just how I am. my temperament is impossible. I speak my mind. I speak what’s on my heart. I don’t have time to process it and sugar coat it. so I yell sometimes. or say mean things. or both. or worse. I need to learn how to control it. I am going to work on that, I promise.

I think you’re wondering what’s the point of all this crap and why you are even reading it when you could be doing other things. like, playing xbox. (okay, I am just mocking you now). the point of my words is I am hoping you can take me as I am. without trying to change me. without telling me what to do. but. sometimes I need to be told. does that make sense? I am stubborn, I am proud, I am full of shit. I make myself think I don’t need anything or anyone. but I remember what you told me one of our nights (it honestly made me shut up). you said, by yourself is not enough. and you kept repeating it. again and again and again. until I gave up. but the words sunk deep into my mind and I hadn’t forgotten since then. I am working on accepting this. (for example, I could start with accepting your jacket when I am fucking freezing.)

for me, loving someone is about setting the person free. letting the person go. if they come back, they’re mine. if they don’t, they don’t. I am scared of loving too much, so usually I end up not showing the person how much they mean to me. I am working on this as well. I want to be able to show you how much you mean to me. not with words and constant repetition of ‘I love you’ because honestly those words don’t mean much. people say it so often and so many times and too soon. for me loving someone is about being in sync with the person. it’s not about being together all the time, it’s not about knowing everything. it’s about honesty. and trust. I haven’t gotten very far with either.

I am not perfect. I have flaws. issues. problems. I get scared and crazy. I am irrational then I am rational. I hate too much, I love too much. sometimes I am careless, sometimes I am heartless. sometimes I am just rude and impolite and just fucking impossible. a lot of the times, when we’re out together, I am at some stage of intoxication. that’s one of the reasons we don’t make love nowhere as much as I (you, we) would like to. because I don’t want to make love to you while I am intoxicated. I want to remember it. I want to know the curves of your body. I want to speak the language of your body. I want to become familiar with every millimeter of your body. know it like the back of my hand yet always try new things. I cannot remember the last time I had sex sober. probably some time last summer. and then I just stopped caring about other people’s pleasure and only thought of my own. but with you I don’t want to be like that.

I hate you for putting my hopes up. for making me think, making me believe, I could belong to someone. as stubborn as I am and as much as I am doing everything I can to avoid so much as mentioning the word, relationship is what I want. secretly. to belong to someone. to be yours. yours only. when I am with you; everything becomes irrelevant. there’s no tomorrow. there’s only you and me. and your smile. I am sure I already told you, but you need to smile more. smile and laugh. you are beautiful when you laugh. your eyes spark; there’s tiny little stars. you’re like a child but you’re afraid to show that side of you. I love the childish you. I wish I knew how to bring it out more often.

I know that we are limited to hong kong. once one of us leaves this city for whatever reason, I know it will be the end. and I also know that the end might come even sooner than that. in fact, any time. is it possible for a person to be ready for that? no matter how casual the relationship is? I don’t know where we stand. because I refuse to fit into society’s social standards and norms. I want to us to be friends and lovers. because that’s the most beautiful thing one can have in life. a friend and a lover. a partner. someone you can count on. not just ‘girlfriend’ or ‘boyfriend’ just so we tell our friends. I don’t know if this makes sense. also, you’re probably getting annoyed by how long this thing already is. (and you will never even read it!)

there’s something you need to know: I write. in five or ten years (hopefully less than that), that’s all I am hoping to be doing. writing. I am a writer at heart. I see images in my mind, I put them into words. I convert the mess inside my head into words. I am not good with talking. most of the time things don’t come out as I mean them. I think you would agree. (one day I will show you what I was writing that night I met you and then days that followed. and yes I still have those papers. in fact, I keep almost everything I write. including the 38 notebooks that I have filled since I moved to hong kong six years ago. thirty eight! call me crazy but if I didn’t write I wouldn’t be able to survive.)

lately I have been daydreaming too much. about you. it makes me vulnerable. and I can’t help it. I imagine having my own apartment exactly the way I want it; with too many books, notebooks, typewriters, pens and papers, vinyls, old postcards and a big map of the world on one my walls noting down places I’d visited. then there would be you. it’s your apartment, too. with your things. I realize now I don’t know what your things are. what kind of books you like, films and so on. so I fill in the gaps. I imagine coming home in the evening to an amazing smell of one of your dinner creations. I see you in the living room, or maybe you’re sleeping, I slowly walk into the apartment. and you’re there. I kiss your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids. then you wake up, sheepishly. you smile when you see me. I kiss your beautiful lips. touch your hair. it feels good to be home. we fall asleep together, maybe spooning, maybe just touching with legs, maybe with backs turned to each other. it doesn’t matter. but what matters is that I want to wake up next to you in the morning. day after day. for a long time. it’s a scary thought, isn’t? it is. it’s so fucking scary.

- Prada

PS. I love when you kiss my forehead. those are my favorite.

weheartit

dear ____,

a few days ago I walked past the restaurant in capocesto we dined at many years ago in a company of friends under the summer sky. maybe there were many stars up there that night but I don’t remember. I don’t even remember what we ordered or what we drank. what I do remember is that we sat side by side, our elbows touching and we were chatting constantly. asking endless questions, babbling. our friend begged us to shut the fuck up. he would buy us anything we wanted if we managed to keep quiet for a whole hour. we were young, we were kids. our eyes widened at the idea of having anything we wanted. so we kept quiet for the entire time; ignoring everyone else’s questions and provocations for once. we won that bet that summer. and then many others. but that was the first time I thought we make such a nice team. I was nine, ten maybe. you, three years older.

in a way we make that same team today. but things are different. even though we are still friends; the careless feeling of being a child is long gone. I saw you this summer for the first time in two years. as individuals we haven’t changed that much. four years times two. two years ago we promised that would never happen again but life keeps taking us each on a separate path. I guess that’s fine. but that summer, I think of it the most. of all our memories the summer we spent sailing the adriatic sea is my favorite. my favorite summer of them all.

currently I am sitting on the top terrace in my house; looking at the dark bay. and I keep thinking in some other universe you could have been here with me. the truth is, I am okay with the way things are. I just hope we will never lose each other the way some friends do. maybe I am an idealist but I think our differences is what makes us strong. morcheeba is keeping me company tonight. and there is nothing else I wish for.

until next time.

signed oscar wilde.

today I was finally able to speak to you and let you know that I will be coming home soon. although I couldn’t see your expression, I could certainly imagine it. I am looking forward to returning home. oh my god, you have no idea how much. it’s been too long. it’s been too long again. we seem to see each other every two years. I remember last time as we were sitting in that garden, drinking, we promised each other not to let two years pass again. I was so sure it wouldn’t happen. but life had different plans and for a while I even forgot about you entirely (well, not entirely). I’m sorry about that period of time. we should have spoken more often. there was a lot I wanted to tell you back then but by the time I mustered up the courage the words had become insignificant and eventually I forgot them, too.

listening to the song that bears my name, the one you discovered for me. it always takes me back to the top of the hill above our old house five years ago. lying down on the dry grass, letting the soak in my skin, feeling your elbow against mine, listening to the song for the first time. and then those two days we spent together. I could never forget.

I am looking forward to seeing you face again. it’s been so long. I wonder whether you have changed. but one thing I know for sure. that we are still the same. it brings me enormous comfort in these strange times. maybe I will be able to tell you about some of it. I am sure you’ve become a more mature listener. even though I am not sure what I mean by this. you’ve always be there for me, especially when I didn’t realize it. but that’s how it was. I will be seeing you sooner than I would have believed.

I need to write these letters more often. I promise.

signed oscar wilde.

dear …..,

it’s kind of surprising, right? you’d think I would use one of the many nicknames I have reserved for you in my mind over the last few years. but we didn’t know each other then and now all those nicknames I had for you have lost their meaning. which is good in a way. so I’m just going to leave it blank, it feels better. not so forced; as if I am giving myself more space to write everything I have been meaning to write. of course, I keep forgetting you have already read a small part of my writings without me knowing, which honestly makes me nervous. I am not as good with numbers as you are, otherwise I would have figured out the probability of you finding my writings a long time ago. it sorts of feels as if you’re in my head, even though I haven’t really told you how I feel about you. yet. isn’t it strange that I can waste a whole paragraph on something others would probably be able to say in two sentences?

don’t get me wrong. I despise shakespeare. so far I have managed to read only two of his plays until the end; hamlet because I had to and othello because I actually liked that play. I have watched all the film adaptations and versions of each and that was only to satisfy the insanity inside my mind that comes with the personality of a cinephile that I am. (is it just me or was that sentence really long?) but I saw the photograph above and I thought, this would fit. but I am not entirely sure to what. I have been trying to write and put my thoughts down but every single time I end up getting distracted after half an hour; forgetting the words in the process, forgetting everything. for a second, it feels like a relief but it all comes back too soon and too suddenly.

but it sounds wrong. the quote I mean. I went and looked it up. shakespeare did not write, or say it. the real writer’s name is arrigo boito; he’s an italian and lived between 1894 and 1918. and this particular sentence comes from his libretto of an opera titled otello, which is where the confusion occurs. however, otello is based on the original play othello by shakespeare. aren’t you glad that you know all this now? yeah, I thought so. it’s interesting, though. I really wish I could get to my point but I’ve just started writing after many weeks and my fingers are moving on their own, and it’s beautiful and amazing. I almost feel as if I am flying. writing without stopping or thinking gives me an indescribable sense of being high. the crash will come later, I’m sure.

the weather is affecting me in a very negative way. it’s constantly white and grey, cold, depressing. just the way you like it. all the headaches, the unwillingness to stay awake and the general hatred towards everything and everyone triggered by the weather and nothing else. twenty four seven, it doesn’t go away. except when I was cuddled up on your couch, with your arms around me. it felt as if a part of everything negative inside me eased up a little bit. I allowed myself to feel content with who I am. you managed to bring it out in me. how or why; I don’t know. the last few months have been really hard on me. a lot of it is personal; trivial stupid shit you wouldn’t be even remotely interested in. a lot of it had something to do with the painful transition period into the semi-adulthood combined with the post-high school euphoria. that was december. which was still okay because everything seemed a little bit more interesting than it actually was. sort of like some weird form of delirium. another term for delirium is dementia.

you met me at a very strange period of my life. I have no idea where I am going or who I am. nothing and everything makes sense at the moment. that kind of thing. I wonder whether you have ever experienced one of these stages, you probably have but reason why I am wondering is because everything seems to get to you in a different way. most people wouldn’t think about it but to me it makes such a difference. the way you process the world and things around yourself; the way you form your sentences; the way you listen and respond. you actually listened to the things I said.

I am not sure what’s happening. I feel this constant urge to write. last night I retired to bed at almost two in the morning, having written thousands of words in a few hours. and this morning I had trouble waking up but I had a cup of coffee; it wasn’t even eight am yet and I was already writing, half asleep. I am trying to keep busy and I am busy. but still the time passes by so slowly for me now. no one to look forward to. but one can get used to anything. this thing is too long, proving that not only I can waste one paragraph but also six. and there’ll be more. I have already written another half a dozen other letters. and that story about those two people at the airport inspired by the shadows on your wall at two am? I started that, too.

- the one with an inner voice within that won’t keep still

I finally emailed you. I don’t think I’ve ever sent you an email like the other night. when I received your reply I was walking with my best friend on the street, I just started jumping and laughing and hugging her. people were looking at me. I was surprised that you replied to it in the first place but even more I was surprised at how open your email was. it made me realize there’s a reason we are friends for as long as we are. most people don’t make it through the first few months. I’m enjoying myself, really. I’m having the best time of my life and the fact that now I’ve stopped feeling strange about writing you an email, the fact that I know I am able to share all of this with you, makes me feel alive. happy. I don’t know if it makes sense.

we went to the beach yesterday, had another bowl of vietnamese soup together, walked around, caught the bus to the other side of the island and spent three or four hours just lying on the beach, dozing off, laughing and washing our feet in the cold waves of november ocean. friendships are more important than relationships. and I like that. after we got back to the city, we sat on the roof, it was cold the wind was blowing hard but we didn’t mind. both sides are covered in seasonal greetings, every single building in hong kong lights up with merry christmas wishes every single night. I am not a big fan, but it’s pretty enough to look at it.

I am not sure what’s the point of this letter. I guess I am happy and wanted you to know. but now you actually do know. I like the difference.

signed oscar wilde.

mornings are starting to be chilly. temperatures are dropping. I keep waking up in the middle of the night; on some nights even three or four times. I like that time between 4 and 7 am when the temperatures are the lowest. even the craziest parties tend to end around this time of the night. instead of imaging people sleeping I think of them drunk, stumbling down the roads, fighting. I fall back asleep pretty quickly. my sleeping routines have changed completely, for the first time in four years I am actually getting enough sleep on a daily basics. and now that I have finished high school it can only get better. or maybe I will fall back into my crazy routine of sleeping during the day and living at night. but I hope not. I have many plans for the next few months and I am looking forward to it all.

I’m not sure why I am writing all this. I don’t think you’d be interested. not after the last letter. I might have been too harsh, but I meant every single word. we are pretty distanced right now, if you’re mad at me then I don’t know it. I don’t want to. but things have changed in the last three weeks. you have no idea how much. I want to go back home, I want to go back to you. it’s going to be a year and a half soon since we last saw each other. I miss that night, I miss that summer. but it’s okay. I keep saying this all the time. I am not sure whether I actually mean it.

I am eating a broccoli soup right now, a cup of coffee, a cup of tea. it’s like I am trying to balance it a little bit. I am trying to find my balance again and I think I am getting really close it. I wonder about you. what you are doing, reading. have you watched any new films? things like that. but for some reason instead of actually talking to you, sending you an email or calling you on skype, I keep writing these letters, hoping maybe day you’ll actually read them all. you don’t even know that I am writing and how much. I can’t help but think you’d be impressed. I still remember our last conversation in the car before you drove me to the bus stop. and I hate buses. but it was better like that, because I didn’t want you to spend an hour alone in the car on the way back, thinking about what it all meant. I took that responsibility. I always do and although sometimes it’s hard I think I’ve come to terms with it. but things have changed so much recently. I want to talk to you about the changes. no one understands anything now, but I know you would.

I’m hopeful. you’ll hear from me soon.

signed oscar wilde.

amazing. how the time passes by. we haven’t spoken for almost three five months now. is it because of me or because of you? I am trying to figure it out without actually asking you, because of course, I don’t want to know the answer. either way, it would hurt me to know. why are things so fucking complicated with you? I will never know. but from what I collect from various online sources, you’re doing well. heartbroken just as I was once, but you’re doing well. things will get easier and better eventually, even though it seems to me this year hasn’t been so good to you. I wish I could say I am sorry.

recently I’ve been going through my iTunes, deleting and adding music. I’ve put back the entire discography of morcheeba. rome wasn’t built in a day. I think I understand now why september is so important to me. I thought of writing you an email and sending the song as attachment, but then I realized I have nothing to say to you. it is sad.

I remember the summer you introduced me to them, I remember it all so well. I still think of that one night we spent under the stars, in front of the fire, I got drunk for the first time in my life and I am glad you were there because I had no idea what was going on with me. in a way that summer was horrible. but it is also my favorite. I spent the whole night contemplating whether I should tell you that by the end of the year I might be gone, on the other side of the planet. I decided not to ruin anything. at least not at that point.

the moment of destruction would come much later. you stood in front of the entrance to our house. it was freezing, last days of december. it was midnight dark but I could still see your face. the expression was clear. everything is going to be different now, isn’t it?

yes. we’re both gone.

signed oscar wilde.

I never intended to keep quiet for so long. but we’re both quiet. things have changed. but this time, definitely. this time – it’s a change I can point at. no more of that abstract bullshit I was feeding you all these longs months and years. but I am not going to apologize. initially I wasn’t even going to write this as a letter, but then I realized it probably might be the easiest way for me to say everything I have been meaning to let out for a good couple of weeks now. the only difference now is, that this time it’s completely about me. I am not wondering how you are doing. I hope you’re doing good, okay. I hope you’re happy. but right now, at this moment, my own happiness is more important to me. and I don’t think it’s selfish.

okay, well let me see. it’s been basically two months since I last sat down and tried to write a proper piece, which would contribute to this so-called book of life. I believe we came up with the whole ideology a few years back, but the meaning of it is completely irrelevant. of course, it is. it’s been years. already two months ago I started to lack time. there was no time for anything. I couldn’t find five minutes to sit down and put my thoughts together. and now I seem to be back in the regular cycle of stress and it’s draining me out. I feel like I need a break, but not from work. I am just tired. constantly, in general, non-stop, all the time – tired. I’m not sure what it is anymore. for a while, I thought it was somehow chemically induced, so I tried to get off coffee like you’ve always told me to, but the thing is, it’s my state of mind. it has nothing to do with the fact that I regularly pay half the price at a starbucks. it’s like having your personal dealer who charges you less than others. no, wait, it’s exactly like that. it’s every addict’s dream.

anyway. I had exams a few months back, I finished them. they went okay, I’m still waiting for some of my results. but yeah. then came Cambodia. I missed vietnam while I was there, I missed home and I kept thinking what it would be like if we were there together. but somewhere, half way through the trip, somewhere in the air while I was on the plane between Phnom Penh and Siem Riep, I stopped caring. I figured we are as good as ever and things are not going to get any better. things are definitely not going to change, because I am not going to do anything. because I just don’t give a shit anymore. I’ve moved on. it happened overnight. it was quite a shock, too. but the good kind.

when I returned back to hong kong; I wasn’t on my own anymore. but it took me a long time to realize it. it took me a while before I’ve accepted the new feeling in my heart. I cannot even begin to describe the moment when I finally did. it was like being set free after all these years of pain, sadness and one-sided affection for you that was killing me. I came back home, I came back free. but that’s not to say you’re not my friend anymore. you are. you will always be. there’ll always be space and place for you in my life. just not the same kind anymore. then came spring break. this year’s was so different from last year. on so many levels. it’s impossible to compare it. this year filled my heart with entirely different emotions. happiness, cuteness, affection. and so on. I’m starting to sound like one of those people from love actually. oh, wait. that was the first film I watched this year. maybe that’s why. somehow I think it’s had an impact.

and now I am back at school again, trying to get my shit together, and it’s incredibly hard, because studying is the last thing I want to do because I feel like I’ve finally found happiness. the real kind. or something. I don’t know. I wouldn’t know. it’s completely new. and completely different. because what happened is I realized that I am happy right now. happier than I have ever been in the last thirteen years of knowing you and that’s something. I hope you’ll understand one day, even though I still haven’t told you. I don’t want to. (I’m still pretty pissed off about switzerland. but you’ll never know.)

I just realized how personal this letter is. and yet it is still out here. but somehow it feels okay. it feels right. when I look back at all of my writings, it seems like I’ve hidden half the truth. I don’t want to do it anymore. I’ve already started working on the way of finding my old self. the way I used to be honest and open about everything, just letting things out there, the way they are. you were the person who taught me not to do it, you were the person who forced me to become just like you. but you’re also the reason why I am going back in time now. it’s so hard. incredibly, incredibly hard and half the time I just hate everyone and everything, because I am afraid of getting hurt. because I’ll never be able to forget. but the thing is, I need new memories. memories with someone who actually loves me.

because you never did.

signed oscar wilde.

I’ve had such a shit day today. migraines are entirely underestimated and yet more than twenty percent of the population suffers from it. or something like that, I didn’t want to get all scientific about it. I left classes early, slept most of the afternoon. I am back to watching medical shows because I am trying to find some inspiration to study the human anatomy a little bit more enthusiastically. I’ve become interested in the human heart and particularly, the brain. it’s incredible really. but sometimes I stop and I think about the figurative meaning of those organs in our lives. sometimes I think I am the heart and you’re the brain. without one another there’d be no us. or maybe it doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know.

right now, my brain feels like it’s ready to explode, so I think I am going back to bed. I wasn’t able to sleep last night, or the night before that. you know why. my heart misses you.

signed oscar wilde