absolut-vodka

[absolut-vodka]

I think and I worry

Brazil, july

Brother,

I have enjoyed writing to you. I have enjoyed never knowing whether to say good afternoon, good morning, or good night to you. I have enjoyed thinking about the real distance between you and me, between us. I have enjoyed knowing that you are on another continent, and yet we share the same sky. I have liked the idea that you will read this days after I have written it - and that you will like it because we hate messages and hate responding to them. I have enjoyed talking to myself and learning to converse - alone. To think about what I want to write to you, what is relevant to say and what is important to keep. Thinking, I really enjoy thinking. It occupies my days, my nights, my skin, my bones, every hair on my body. It spreads through me like spilled ink, and I can't avoid it. I want to write, to speak, to hear opinions about what I think. I want people to know, and at the same time, I want to hide. I want so many things, and above all, I want you here to teach me to be silent, to keep my mind at peace, to stop thinking sometimes. I want certainty, I want security, and I don't have them because I don't have you. I want to talk to you, but above all, I want you to stay there, even though I know you are not happy and you don't miss home either. I want your life, I want to be you, but I don't want that, I want more. I want my life, I want to be me, I want my things, my plans, my dreams, my home, my lack of homesickness, my unhappiness, my silence. I don't want to repeat your steps, even though I'm very inspired by you. I hope you understand.

I have a crush on a boy. He is older, kinder, taller. Ruder, more patient, angrier, more worrying, more stubborn. He doesn't think as much as I do, but he listens to my thoughts. I think you would like him if you put aside your brotherly concerns. I think you would really like him. He has caused a lot of trouble, been very rebellious, lied a lot, a real headache. He also doesn't get along with his parents, doesn't like life very much, and has had many bad experiences. Just like me. Just like you. Just like us. I like him, and I wish you would like him too. He says he wants to take care of me. I don't want him to take care of me. I don't need him to take care of me. I know how to take care of myself, I just don't. It's amazing how many things I know how to do, I just don't do them. We're different in that, right? Very different.

Things have changed, lives have changed. I don't miss you as much as I should, just like I don't miss grandma, J.C., or Uncle Ricardo. I'm glad to know that you don't miss them much either. But we still miss them, right? I wish it were more, I wish the pain would swallow me and swallow you too. I don't know why I said that. I stopped taking my medication, maybe that's the reason.

I have been seeing my life in songs, movies, terminals (I have found many things in terminals), and in medicine leaflets. I'm very worried, I mourn for the living, I talk about the dead, I keep memories alive, and I worry about you. I worry about answering the phone and receiving bad news. I worry about your lack of smiles in photos, about your videos alone, about the distance. You say you don't want me to worry about you, but I still worry. I worry that your emptiness is not just emptiness. I worry about your lack of thoughts because I never stop thinking. I see myself standing still in the swiftness with which you left, in the happiness when you stayed. I feel trapped in diagnoses and more concerns. I'm afraid that your words might be a lie, that things are not going well, and that you don't tell me because you know I would scrape together every penny and do the unimaginable to come see you.

I hope you are less angry but happier. I hope the friends you made there are as enduring as the ones you have here. I hope you continue going out, listening to good music while taking a shower, coming home late at night, walking back from work because you enjoy thinking, driving above the speed limit on the streets, reading books that no one else understands but you, saving money, living in the present, and thinking about the future - just like me. I hope for so many things, and all of them are endlessly good, not far from what you deserve. Read the books I sent you, listen to the songs I shared, and discuss the movies I recommended. Write to me when you have the time. I can imagine you during a work break, sitting on the curb with dirty hands and aching limbs, with your crooked and barely legible handwriting, not thinking much - so different from who I am. Record yourself writing and send it to me. I can picture your expressionless face while you write, contrasting with mine that smiled, became serious, and made faces throughout the writing of this letter. I don't need to tell you about it, you know me. I don't want photos or videos, just the written word. Tell me about your days, your life, share your thoughts on this letter. I miss talking to you, and I miss my brother, even if not as much as I would like. Good morning, good afternoon, or good night.

With absolutely love and proud,

Absolut Vodka