(Three more days 'til I'm gone.)
To
I hate how hot it gets. Everyone knows I hate how hot it gets because I complain about it at least once a day, and I hate that I do. I hate that I complain about how hot it gets but I just can’t stop doing it. It’s like some god-awful addiction and I hate it. I hate humidity and sweating and how greasy my hair gets. Fuck the equator and fuck tropical weather.
I hate a lot of stuff here. I hate how you can’t buy coloured hair dye, and I hate how there aren’t any hypermarkets because, um, Walmart is really fun. I hate how it doesn’t snow. And yeah, those dumb traffic lights that are always, always red whenever I’m in a hurry to get home? Yeah, you. Fuck you. I hate you the most.
I hate how I always complain about this place. I hate how I kind of have some hometown pride. I’ve hated growing up here and I hate that I kind of didn’t sometimes. I sometimes feel robbed of a proper sandbox-and-street-baseball childhood, and sometimes I’m glad I had my own warped one with my weird-ass games and early introduction to video games a la pokémon.
Even though I will miss aspects: the transport, (LOLJK, no matter where I’ve lived it’s been annoying with transport. INCONVIENIENCE WHAT’S UP,) some local food, (I still haven’t tried everything because I’m unadventurous and unashamed to say that. Um, hello, I will so be careful with what I put in my mouth, okay?) and the busy night life, (which is kind of nice when I’m not feeling reclusive which is rarely ever,) I’ve always been adamant that the things I love most about this place are the people here and the experiences I’ve had. You could’ve taken the girl out of the city and she would’ve been fine if she’d still done the same stuff and seen the same things. Which she wouldn’t have. So I guess I’m just being an ungrateful brat. I’m glad for my experiences here and opportunities.
To my friends: I am, by nature, incredibly reclusive. Those of you close enough to me will know this, and know this well – I fall into fits of the sullens and will not want to leave my room and see people and if I do happen to see people regardless, I will be in my own world and unresponsive. In short – I am an obstinate brat, and now that I read this, a pretty shitty friend. Despite the fact that I find most people stupid and annoying, I actually have managed to find some that do not fit the stereotype that I have imposed and believed in my whole life, (i.e. that people are stupid and annoying.)
“Friends” is used quite loosely I guess. I have, at this point, 594 facebook “friends,” and by definition, a lot of them are not my “friends” at all. Therefore, I will revise this section, “To my friends,” to “To my favourite people.” Who is in this group of my favourite people is very subjective – to both me and you. Maybe I don’t know you that well but, as creepy as it sounds, I may find your presence enjoyable and you may be one of my favourites. Or maybe you know very well that you are. Or maybe you think you are but I actually hate you.
So, to my favourite people, (my actual favourite people according to me, not the ones who think they are but aren’t. Isn’t this an ambiguous ‘Open letter!’,) thank you for, uh, sticking around I guess. Putting up with the awkwardness that I usually manage to cast on a group, the idiotic comments I can make, and just my presence in general. It’s been real cool chilling with you, (probably,) and I’m sure we’ve had some great times, (again, depending on who you are.) Thanks for making me laugh, (you probably have, even if you’re someone I hate because sometimes I find everything funny,) and thanks for nice conversations. Maybe we have cute photos together. You might be on my wall. It’s not creepy, it’s nice, I swear.
In all reality though – here goes me trying ~sentimentality~ ooh – this is me trying to say that I might miss some of you. And this is a serious confession right here guys, because a lot of the time I find being around people so tiring because my natural state is just hermit. Lately, I’ve found myself actually wanting to go do things more and, god forbid, socialize, because it’s gone from occasionally being a chore, (I sound like such a nice, fun, person right now,) to just not. Look guys! You made the people-hater like people!
Maybe I don’t see you too often, and when I do, it’s such a nice moment and we always say – We need to meet up more! – but we just don’t. We should, but we don’t, and that can be okay, because it’s never awkward and it’s always just nice. Maybe I see you whenever I can, even though it’s not often, and that’s just nice too, because it makes those moments special and we, (I hope it’s reciprocal,) look forward to them. Maybe I see you all the fucking time and it’s just going to be weird when I don’t – you know who you are – and well, I’m going to miss that, but it’ll be kind of nice that our reunions will be like none other.
I know I may come across as either clingy or aloof, (god, the contradiction there,) and I’m stubborn and awkward as hell, but I will admit that I pretty much kick ass at keeping in contact, so I guess it’s I will if you will.
To The Little Things: I never, ever think about you. You are waiting in the freezing cold in the winter for your school bus and just knowing that you are going to die of hypothermia. You are accidentally stepping on your dog’s squeaky toys at 2 in the morning whilst getting a drink. You are running up bloody Barker road – yes, that bit, - and just hating your life and everything. You are slipping on your sister’s rug and struggling to regain balance for dear life, the shadows the leaves of your plant cast on the ceiling, your wonky top shelf, the thoughts that keep you up at night. You are the Things We Never Know We Have Until They’re Gone. You are the basis for random nostalgias as I will no doubt see little reminders of you and think to myself, “Hey, that reminds me of home!” You have annoyed or pleased me and either way, have affected me, and you warrant a mention in my open goodbye letter: thanks for existing, I guess.
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