It’s funny, a little less than a month ago, I would have skipped this letter, since it would have never applied to me.
You fucked with me.
Well, to put it simply, that’s what I got from our short relationship.
I’m still not right over it—not because you’re gone, but because of the impression I have of myself now.
I have to say though, I’m truly grateful to you.
In those seventeen days, I’ve learnt a lot that I wouldn’t have been able to learn by myself.
Not only about myself, but about my ideals and how it relates to “our world.”
I learnt my lessons the hard way, but it’s the best way to learn because I’ll truly avoid it from being screwed over the same way in the future.
You’ve also cemented a few friendships, both old and new. I wouldn’t say it was my “darkest hour,” but now I know who’ll put up with my shit and pick me up when I’ve fallen rather than run away. I know who the listeners are, the ones I need to go to when I need help.
Plus, you were the catalyst for me to basically “come out.” I haven’t told some of my family yet, and the friends without facebook or those who don’t pay attention may still not know, but the people who matter do.
So for all of those above reasons, thank you.
At the same time, I’m not sorry for what I’ve said before you told me to “fuck myself.”
You may feel like I was judging you, and I totally understand that feeling, but you have to understand my sentiments.
I wanted you to get your life back in order, but you were very sluggish at it. I still remember the fact that it took you over a week to call back a potential employer, yet you were scrounging around for money like it was nobody’s business. I asked you if I had to be worried with how you handle your money because of how you never had any of your own—you told me what you made doing your promotions, which is money I’d kill for since I barely make that a month, yet there never seemed to be enough. I can pay my family’s phone bill and book four airline tickets, yet you couldn’t even afford a fucking Jack-in-the-Box sandwich and fries.
Then there was the constant partying despite that lack of money. I don’t, and still don’t, understand how that ever worked. End of story.
I also call bullshit on you wanted to relax after “working hard and going to school” for five years in a different state. You said you grew up, but your actions and self-management suggests otherwise; I use the present-tense because I expect you to renege on your words just as you did me. You couldn’t handle your money, you couldn’t even bring yourself to get a job in the five (now six or seven) months you’ve been back.
You told me before we got serious that you were willing to change your ways so we could work, but what happened? I get called out for not going out with you; being busy with school, work, and bowling despite you knowing that those are the most time-consuming activities I’m in; not being willing to drive you and your friends all over the place because gas is expensive and I’ve been paying for it the whole time; not having “people skills” because I was intimidated by your flaming friends because I don’t hang out with any; for having an “arrogant/condescending tone” when that’s seemingly the natural way I speak; and telling you the problems I had after rather than in the moment because I’m afraid of what I’d say when I’m brimming with emotion.
Then when I tell you what I thought you needed to work on or what I observed about you, since you’ve done so me, you tell me to “fuck myself.” Not only was that immature, it showed lack of personal strength and character: three flaws I wouldn’t be able to deal with anyway.
So fuck me for driving to your house every time you wanted to see me or I wanted to see you; for buying us dinner one night to enjoy at your house; bringing food over when you said you were hungry; bringing over aspirin and toothache gel when you had a toothache; for introducing you to three separate groups of friends I have; and for letting me think that you were actually worth all the trouble because one day, you’d return the favours for me.
I’m ranting; according to you, I may even be “judging” you at this point.
But it’s my letter to you. Open and candid.
And I feel obligated to write all of this down in order for my paradigms to be accepted.
Every story has two sides.
This is just mine; it may not be right, but this is how I see it.
With love,
Justin Kanda
P.S. Thanks for showing me what I don’t deserve.
Oh, and I guess for all those positive things I said before.
P.P.S. I forgive you for all the trouble you’ve put me through.
