Impression

V,

I've figured you let someone else read these letters I give you, and again I figure that would eventually happen. Although, I expected sooner. Perhaps, I irritated more quickly than I have imagined.

What was his impression about them? Btw, he has emailed me about them. And no, you would not know about that conversation. At least not from my side.

Let me retrace a few steps. And by a few, I will exaggerate. My first impression about you somehow still applies: you are someone mysterious, and serious, and difficult to gauge. And although I've known many things about you, I figure I still know a little. And I haven't known you enough, perhaps not in my level of enough. That would take another letter to explain (so you might as well wait for that one).

Impressions. Why am I again writing? And why am I still, if I know others are able to read? Does that even matter? Does it now affect the way I write?

Well, whoever you will be whom Vince would permit to read these, it actually excites me to know so. That another person will be reading my thoughts. That another clueless individual would take a peek at what I call my deep well. Of vague generalizations, of specific simplicity.  Of abstract and reality. Of details and what-have-you random things. But no, your reading this would not affect the way and things I'd write. Only one thing so far did: the Platonic 'reply' I got from him.

I may have been releasing an impression that I am equally mysterious as he is, that I am readable to those I deem to be able read me. That I have an impenetrable defense. And that impression I drop.

I am what I think I am, and it is most likely different with what you think of me. And that I speak to the random stranger and Vince, though that would mean differently. In the same way, I may consider you in a manner altogether unique with your own disposition of yourself.

Is it now a battle of impressions? And wit? I dismiss that as well. Go figure. But this I tell, double-sided. Either you are able to figure it out or are altogether confused. But impress me, and I challenge you. Reply.

Almost

V,

This last one took a lot of time (well compared with the first three) before being written. Before I am writing once again. Which brings me to my point: why have I not written another shortly, and why write now?

There are actually a lot of reasons why I am writing. And a lot of views I could think of. Also, a thousand ways to express each of them. And I am near the point of forgetting, of drowning in these countless ideas and statements on my head. So I might as well get started. And fast.

Why is it that when I decide to let go of the seemingly impossible, when I do the hardest of them all (well, the presently hardest), things suddenly change and fall out of hand. Either I am totally convinced that my choice is now irrelevant and irrational, or I am totally sold with thinking how to react at the sudden change of things first. Things are nearing their balance. Things are almost in control. Then, they go out of control.

Like, when I was gonna tell you something serious and of utmost importance, you just moved in the middle of nowhere. When I was supposed to repress and wear a mask, the idea of writing you letters instead came up. And when I was about to write straight from the point, following my own advice from my last letter, things just become pointless, so there's no point to go from, or to go to. Just like that. Just in instant, things change. Things get pretty out of hand. As if they are playing a game on me.

Why now? Why ever? Why not this? Why not sooner?

I know I haven't really told anything personal, or different, or serious, or straight from our conversations and my letter. Ever. I just haven't. And right now, I feel like slipping one out. I actually, as I've mentioned, planned to focus on saying something actual here. But typical of me, I haven't mentioned a thing.

As has been, I've always almost said a thing. Then I took it to another direction, and it's impossible to ever come back to the point of reversing that almost.

Why am I ever writing letters? Why am I not being rather direct? Why am I voicing out my thoughts out loud (in ink, or what have you) here?

I could have slipped a couple of times here, actually. As you may have noticed, I keep coming to a point of climax, of bursting it out, but then I take it back.

Maybe, I am playing a game. And perhaps, life is playing one on me, too. We're equals, thus you can say. We're playing the same game, suffering and enjoying the same results. Equal? Almost.

Because when you expect the most, we just take you to a point where you want more.

Expectations

V,

That was a lot of questions. Should I say, I expected them. Well, a lot of them, just as I expect you'll reply after my third letter for you. There are actually a lot of expectations I have in mind. I'm getting sidetracked again. Hhh.

People expect a lot, people have a lot of others whom to expect from and a lot of things to expect. Expectations.

Just as I've already planned how to write this fourth one, hours ago, when I've read your reply. But I will abandon that plan now, and tread another path. A new form. I wouldn't be surprised if you've expected this.

I write because I express myself well when nobody is around. I expect no one to understand me. Where am I going?

I do not know. I can not tell, not because I do not want, but because I do not really know. I do not even know what to expect. And here's one that perhaps I am writing to show that I am not really writing, and not really expecting straight answers from you. Just writing, plainly writing. No sublimes, no limitations, no expectations. I would have liked to leave it at that.

And for the first time, I will. I will.

v Questions

If I told you to shut up, would you? Would you do so because I said so, or because you were offended? Or would you do otherwise because I told you so and you wanted to prove that statement to be offensive? Or would you simply not do as I've told for no apparent reason?

If I told that I wanted to talk to you, would you do so, too? Would you because you have to listen or do you want to listen? Or would you do so because you have no other choice? Because I am your friend? Or am I? Would you because you have something to tell, something to say? Or would you want to just react? Maybe argue? What would you have expected to hear? Should I start? But the more important question is, would I ask this, these questions?

I've received 3 letters from you. Plus, we've talked about a lot of things. And here's my first reply, well not exactly. I impose questions more than answers. I asked in return to your questions, instead of answering. But I offer that you take a second look at things, perhaps at little things you have the chance to do and those that you don't.

One last question: why? I know you'll understand that. I will wait for your reply.

Replying,
v

Names

Dear Vince,

Hello again. It's my second letter today, but this one is about something I've always wanted to ask you. Which I suddenly remembered.

Why is your name Vincent? Is there any history or story to that? Well come to think of it, you seldom speak about yourself, about your family, or anything concerning you.

You see, I have long wanted the name Vincent since I was little. Mark Vincent John actually. Yeah, I know, pretty long. It was because of Ghost Fighter's Vincent. I wanted that character, and his name sounded cool to me.

Names. They say they determine a lot about a person, even in terms of names shaping and influencing his personality and identity.

Why is the sun called as such? Or the earth, earth? Would it have mattered if we called it some other name or even if it was supposed to be earth? The earth rises and sets. Would we get used to those? The way we are with them in the present? The way I always attribute Vince with you?

In naming, we create. We do not just define based or etymology for we give it a name. As if we own it. Yet some may give it another, evident in languages, a thousand of them. Is it supposed to be a tool? To identify?

Perhaps I already know your name. And I know that'd be a key to me knowing you, more than what your name tells, or about its story, but about the person, who I may give a name different from what he was given, and meaning differently than if it would have been used my others, even on you. Friend.

Generalizations

Dear Vince,

Today is starting rather early, but still alone. If only you did not leave, I would be found hanging around your place. That would have been swell. But I guess I couldn't do anything about that. I'll focus on other things.

It is difficult being accepted. Or perhaps that is just on my head, a thought I always put into mind. Maybe that is an isolated case, just my case. And here I am again, setting myself away from others. Out of reach. Untouchable.

It is difficult expressing, or again only maybe so I think. I make easy things complex, complicated. That has got to be the simplest I could mention about it, or it would take more than 10 more sentences explaining how and why and what have you. It's tempting to do so, so I'll cut it.

Overall, life couldn't be generalized by statements and exclusive words. It is not supposed to be. One moment it's partly this and that, another moment and only this remains while a new one comes. It is just like that, as I guess it should be. I've long tried to do otherwise, and it has all been to my disappointment.

What am I saying? Well, I am worried how the community you're now living in is receiving you. Are they treating you well? I know you sort of am familiar with their language, but still, it is another culture, another world. Perhaps you could update about your conditions there. I will be waiting.

Don't worry, I am doing fine and I am adjusting. And I invoke the term, 'I can manage.'

//Once again, it isn't that straight-forward, but this one's easier to get. Form plus content. Know how that translates here.

Trust

Dear Vince,

Today has been rough. And yes, this is actually my first letter to you. But I figure people wouldn't understand why I am writing now so just hide or dispose of my letters (yes, I'll be sending more soon) after you've read them.

So as I've started, today has been rough. But I'll focus on trust issues I've encountered. Is it hard to trust someone? Is it hard to trust me? Well I could say I do not fully trust others, in that I still have secrets of my own, but I do trust them. At least far more than I do other people, much more than a stranger or acquaintance. Why do I trust them that much? Well, I take a gamble, or more specifically a calculated risk. Probability still plays within the situation, but I choose to risk saying the things I would have in secret be told. In one way, it is my way of expressing. I express when I trust, I trust therefore I express. For someone as I, either is hard to do, and doing either entails doing the other, and doing either is hard and takes a lot of courage and calculations.

I do know that I couldn't control the other part of the equation. Should one trust me, it is his (or her, but will be using generic term elsewhere) decision. Although I could invoke my trust for him, it is still his decision after all. Each is entitled to do things his way.

I do not know if you've mentioned about your leaving the country for good to me, or if we've agreed not to talk about that matter. So I am confused if you do not trust me so as not to tell, or if you are just doing as agreed. I do not trust my emotions saying it is the former.

On a note, I do not know if writing here, in this medium, would entail that I am violating someone else's trust (although I have thought of that and have included no details, just concepts, here).

But then, today is still not over. For now. And I will just let the day pass, before saying my last words for it. There is still much time left.

PS. This isn't what you think it is. Calculated, weighed, derived. Three words.

Greeting good night,

an nun knee moose