Dear Andy

Don't you just hate when someone starts sayin' something like "you should change your profile photo, the one you have doesn't suit you..." when you've probably seen that person once live with some luck??? And the only thing we share in common is a Facebook account...? Like, when did you start knowing me, at all? That's the Facebook (Facefuck) generation for you...

Few people know me, I feel. Heck, it took me AGES (aproximately two decades) to actually get to know a little bif of myself. And I'm still scratching the surface.

Change the photo. Change the hair. The shape, the color. Change your style, your clothes. Maybe that way you can become more and more like the person you want me to be(*scratches*) the person you truly are. Yeah, that sounds like a plan...

I'm sitting in a not-so-fancy restaurants area in a not-so-fancy mall, on Easter Day. Not so crowded too. Counting the number of lonely people. Well, there's me, a thirtysomething guy at the front, a waitress in her lunch break that has just left, another guy at the front with a funny hair, a lady eating icecream behind me... well, at least I'm not "alone" right? Then, there are the families and couples who insist on spending the holiday at the top floor of a mall...

The "angry" photo I put recently in my profile, that made that same someone use the phrase "Change it. It doesn't suit you", is actually more suitable than ever now. Oh yes, I'm angry... and worst of all, I don't know who to blame exactly. The world? Human Nature? Our society? My sad parents, who seem more and more perfect for each other as time goes by, such is the wave of aglomerated self-pity and victimization that runs through this house? Perhaps even me?

They called me frustrated, while they keep up with some really weird negative reflexes on even positive actions. (the latest example: after taking the pet out, my dad said I should have took the trash too in a really unthankful manner, when they didn't ask me to do it when I left!)

I can actually understand my dad. A little bit, I mean. My mom broke two bones of her leg and so, she can't cook, walk... she's confined inside a 2nd floor apartment. Of course, it gets hard. But why, WHY does his denied frustration has to go to me? Well, because I'm the only one still in this house, aside from my mom, of course...

I may be frustrated, yeah, but I had good teachers at that. As a consequence, even small stuff like getting to know new people and interact with them is hard. Maybe that explains the fact that I only had one serious relationship, that lasted... less than 3 months - well, and the fact that I'm gay, which makes it 1000x harder to find a good stable love relationship with another man who's not afraid to show his feelings, period. And so, some of the best friends I keep I see them once in a couple of weeks, in a month, or even in a year. Some due to real geographic distances, others I create some of my own. And we talk here, sure, but... is it the same?

And that's in short the story of my life. And since I'm still financially dependent of the parental entities (it's either that or quitting college, getting a job and just move out of here), I'm pretty much screwed for like a year or two.

I'm so sorry if I sounded way too melodramatic or just a good ol' screaming drama queen. Then again, you're not really there, are you?

Cheers