I just read your letter to me you posted. It is one of the most beautiful things I have read in a long time. You are right that people don’t do snail mail anymore, I can’t remember the last time I wrote such a letter. Writing has become a lost art, so it was exciting to receive such a retro classic from you.
You said you are proud of me for making so much progress on my book. For a long time it’s been my life, and my saviour. I have found solace in writing. It’s been therapeutic. A way for me to engage with others, and express myself. I’ve learnt a lot about the real me over the years. You talk about purpose, which many of us strive for in life. I don’t seek to inspire, that’s never been my goal, but to share what it’s like being me in the modern world and to communicate with others about difference.
Many what ifs and regret go through my mind, but I would like to think I came out better from a bad situation. I fought back knowing it was the more difficult and courageous path, because the alternative wasn’t one for me. I had always felt I lost everything in doing so, but you say I hadn’t. The things I did lose weren’t quite as important as I thought they were. Your words are true.
Only now have I realised that I was disillusioned in my former job, but you’re right – dreams do change, and people change. I can only hope that I can do far more better things for the world as a writer than I ever did policing, so all has not been in vain. Only through writing have I found my voice. One I never had before. I do realise this.
The life I had before was shrouded by naivety, I guess because there were certain things I didn’t want to admit. I will take your advice and strive not to mourn something that wasn’t real, for me anyway. I will try to look back objectively, although I admit I was unhappy.
There are days I feel alone, even though I know I am not. I too know I can’t isolate myself and feel sad when I do. I know the world I find myself existing in when I do isn’t an accurate representation of what it’s really like. I dream that I will find peace in a place that is diverse and progressive. A place where there are like-minded people like me. We found each other by chance, and yes, that’s exactly how it happens.
I had resigned myself to thinking that I’ll never meet someone I’ll mesh perfectly with. I am getting better of not being afraid of meeting people, who care about the same things and aren’t shy about speaking out. I know I have to stop being careful about projecting a certain image. If I care about stuff, then say it. I know it doesn’t make me a radical, even though those who want to silence my voice will say I am. You’re right though, I don’t care what stupid people think. It is their problem.
I pondered on your thought when you said you think I’ll find happiness when I stop trying to be the good guy. You think I’m amazing anyway, but that I don’t need anyone to validate me. It is I who is lucky to know you, and I who feels blessed to have met you. We will be friends forever.
All my love xx
In the country, time is slow and hesitant, not at all like in big cities. It seems that a whole month has passed, but in fact, only one week has passed. Usually, in the morning I help my aunt in the garden, although her morning begins earlier than mine. We have a village far from the village and tap water is an unheard-of luxury, so I take two old iron buckets and go through three houses to the well. The water from the well is incredibly clean and very cold. Sometimes I have to do something about the house, but as soon as the first opportunity appears, I wave over the fence and run to friends.
In the village, I have good friends. Together we spend almost all the time. In the hottest days we can sit for hours on the river bank. We swim, frolic and see off the passing barges. Somehow I got it from my aunt because I missed dinner, but in fact I was not hungry. The fact is that my friend Paschka brought a whole package of potatoes from Uncle Sergei and we baked it right in the fire. What a pleasure to throw hot potatoes from one hand to another, and then break it and eat it in a piece, clearing it of salt ash. Agree, this is not a plate with soup ready for you. But how much romance and happiness spent, as if in a different world, summer days!
Это было интересное лето. Если первый месяц отдыха ничем не отличался от предыдущих летних каникул, я был в городе, то последующие два месяца оказались для меня самыми запоминающимися, я уехал к тёте в деревню. Именно, с проведенными днями в деревне у меня связаны самые интересные события и яркие впечатления моего лета.
В деревне время идет медленно и нерешительно, совсем не так, как в больших городах. Кажется, что целый месяц, а на самом деле всего одна неделя. Обычно, с утра я тёте по огороду, хотя ее утро начинается раньше моего. У нас деревня далеко от поселка и вода из крана неслыханная роскошь, поэтому я беру два старых железных ведра и иду через три дома к колодцу. Вода из колодца невероятно чистая и очень холодная. Иногда приходится что-то сделать по дому, но как только появляется первая возможность, я перемахиваю через забор и бегу к друзьям.
В деревне у меня хорошие друзья. Вместе мы проводим почти все время. В самые жаркие дни мы часами можем просидеть на берегу речки. Купаемся, резвимся и провожаем взглядами проходящие баржи. Как-то мне попало от моей тёти за то, что я пропустил обед, а на самом деле я и не был голоден. Дело в том, что мой друг Пашка принес от дяди Сережи целый пакет картошки, и мы пекли ее прямо в костре. Какое это удовольствие перекидывать из одной в другую руку горячую картошку, а потом разламывать и съедать по кусочку, очищая ее от соленой золы. Согласитесь, это вам не тарелка с готовым супом. Зато сколько романтики и счастья проведенных, как будто совсем в другом мире, летних дней!