Cdearest Esther,
I’m writing to you from the emptiness of these twenty years that I can’t make sense of (or maybe it’s just January, the new year, the uncertainty, what do you say?) I’ve been living in Milan for a while, where I frequent the off-site university. On the sentimental front: little or nothing. Left by Great Love I understood that Great Love does not exist, or at least this isn’t the time to think about it, because I don’t fall into the category of the lucky ones who take it and never let it go, evidently. In fact, after him, no involvement (some aftermath with the aforementioned Grande in which I placed quite a bit of hope, to be honest, but oh well).
Then, in a strange way, S. snuck into my life, for whom I also felt willing to do some stupid things (and I even did some). Flowers, attention, nice words, some shivers, many silly smiles, and yet, in fact, there has always been something that didn’t convince me. Yes, he is very different from me, with habits and passions very far from mine; he’s not even too “my type” of face – one of those people you say about: he has charm (at least that’s how I see it). I would have attended him, even without commitment, I would have kept the situationship calmly, but for him it was either inside or outside. And if you’re in, it’s to build. The word makes me anxious. Or maybe I don’t want to?
In short, am I asking too much? Am I insatiable? What is my problem? Could it be that I’m unsuitable for men?
Reassure me, or tell me that I’m stupid, and that twenty years is a short time for everything (how angry).
Thank you. Hugs,
V.
Ester Viola’s response
Dear V.
There is this whole new acceptance protocol and the socio-amorous picture that emerges is the following:
Don’t you ever see him? All right.
Do you just write to each other? All right.
Are you non-exclusive, in the sense that everyone does what they like and everyone is happy?
All right.
Does it make you feel bad even when it makes you feel good? All right.
Situationship? All right.
In past times (the day before yesterday) it was a little easier. Loves that work and loves that don’t. Green and blue. Instead we are touched by loves who knows, gray area loves. Possibility-loves, “let’s wait and see what happens” loves, trust-based loves, post-dated loves, lottery-loves, tarot-reading loves.
For me the greatest misfortune was the I-will-change-you loves, the I-am-changing-you loves, the you-are-the-usual-asshole-from-before loves. It went well for me.
There is no need for confirmation: twenty years is a short time for everything. Except for programs, V.
Programs for the future. There you have to prepare, be precise, have it. My grandfather always had one word for every bad mood: study. As soon as you know how to answer the question “where do I want to be in ten years?” (“with whom”, however, life will decide, another difficult to explain matter), you are automatically relieved of the task of asking yourself “do I feel sad?”.
As for the five minutes of pucundria, which are the reason for your letter, those
they come and go. But not you. You stay.
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