Emotional Stockholm syndrome, Part 1
You weren’t part of my plans. You just strode into them, like the arrogant person you seemed to be.
But I admit, I thought of you. Of how you would like me. It mustn’t strike me as a surprise, then, that you glowed like a neon light in the red-light district of Manila in the seediest places in my mind.
We went out, together with a few friends. You had someone who was very phlegmatic. I wondered what sort of ruse he put on your pretty neck, but I guess just anything might do. I never believed it, but his best friend told me that you were very, very interested in him.
He must be a poet – but never mind.
Well, I’m sorry from the bottom of my heart for thinking of you. Not because you are a hornet’s nest of lust, but I have to own my mental failure. You do like him, I see it in your eyes. So I am very ashamed of this infatuation, aggravated by three things, to wit:
1) the way you touched my face when you said goodbye: patronizing, yet special
2) your name, which is at once easy to say and hard to comprehend why it is this easy to say.
3) your aura of arrogant nonchalance toward me: I do not understand it.
I seized upon you to wage war against the machine, the company, the administration, the government. You were the government, I was the revolutionary. I aimed to bring you down with my music, with the poetic means I had. I was furious at you – furious beyond measure! But I fell. I didn’t fall hard – wasn’t possible because I already had my bearings – but I fell. So, sorry. That time we ate at Maria’s Italian restaurant, I was feeling terribly awkward already. I couldn’t even finish my garlic bread.
So, we part ways in peace, Peace. Maybe you will remain like this forever, but really, I couldn’t care less. No offense, though. You stay where you are, like a cat, and I will stay where I am.