school task
Letter to an old friend.
Dear John,
I haven't seen you for ages! How are you doing my friend? Anyways, I'm glad to hear from you.
I don't know which one of your questions to answer first. How my life is going? Well, remember what plans I had when we last saw each other? They proved to be a bit unrealistic. I didn't fit in the army and law just wasn't my cup of tea. I have only recently fully focused on my one true call. I am a poet now. And, to answer your other question, yes, it was me, not some other guy with the same name, but me, who wrote that book you mentioned. It is true that it is a bestseller and I now make enough money simply on my writing. I remember our nine years in grade school together, all that talk about growing up and settling down. I've let that go to. I want neither to grow up nor settle down. I am happy as a forever-young nomad. I am like a pilgrim now; I travel by foot from place to place, carrying only my computer and some clothing. Here and there I sit down, write for hours on end, until I have drained the place of its creative energy. Then I wander along to another place, another bench or another stone where my heart feels at home, and then I just let go of everything else and let the words flow.
It does get a bit lonely, though, and John, I intend to quit writing as soon as I finish my new novel. We have always had a close relationship you and I. We used to talk about all kinds of things, therefore I trust you with this secret.
It is eating me up from the inside, John, this writing-business. I can't sell my talent for nearly as much as it spiritually costs me. I've always talked about fame, you being my right hand and all, but fame comes with a price. A price low enough in the beginning, but it rises within due time. My fame is growing but so is the price I have to pay. I have sacrificed everything for this. There's is no time for love, no time for family. It would consume me, and my time. I chose solitude. I sometimes wonder what my life had been like, should I have done as you did. Your family sounds wonderful and it saddens me to know that my death would not be mourned by many. Perhaps a few readers, I even have fans, but no wife, no children, to lay flowers on my grave. At the other hand, I won't risk having to lay down flowers on somebody else's grave either. I do not miss love for I have never felt the need of it. Although, I do feel a need for being needed. Every word I type is a little bit of my soul. A little bit of my soul that I give away to others.
I have no home, as I said. I wander around, sleeping in the wild sometimes. I do have a fat bank account though, and a credit card to access it. I sometimes stay at fancy hotels, but I do not know a certain place as home. It would ruin my freedom, being tied to a specific home. Home is wherever I am.
I tried the army, right after school. I fumbled with a grenade and got kicked out within two weeks. After that, I studied law for four years. It didn't give me much but an advantage when negotiating terms for my book release. I met this girl there, the girl I blame for everything. Her name was Lilith, she was the smartest girl on campus and the most beautiful as well. She never knew I existed until I published a poem about her in the school paper. Of course I never spelled out her name, but she read between the lines and I one day found a letter lying on my desk. It was from her. We started dating and I was as happy as ever. We got engaged after six months. She was the love of my life. But, as I used to tell you when we were younger, it was the love in essence that made me suffer the way I did when it all went wrong. I always used to say that the very thing making love something wonderful is what will break it up one day. The human factor. She ripped the heart right out of my chest. It was the most humiliating thing I had ever went through, watching her kiss another man, not knowing that I was watching from the bus. I never confronted her about it. I jumped out of school and moved in with a friend in another town. I couldn't face her betrayal.
I considered suicide then, but you know me, I am too curious commit such an act of foolishness. I wanted answers on other things and decided I had never loved that woman at all. It was easier that way. I told myself I had only played around, that I, in fact, had been exploiting her. I did it to save myself from the pain but it was strong and required stronger lies. Soon I began to believe them myself. I began to think that she was innocent and I was the player. I blamed myself for the emptiness I was responsible for. I became an empty shell. And I am partly still in it.
Now you know what has happened to me the last ten years. But do not feel sorry for me, John, I have good enough money, I never go hungry and I have health insurance. What more can one ask for? This is what my next book will be about – the human need of worrying which is now an unnecessary instinct. Instead of worrying about what to eat today or what dangers we might encounter, we turn our worries to something that lies closer. In today's society we have nothing serious to worry about, but it is in our nature to do so. In addition to it we start worrying and contemplating about the very meaning of our existence. Do you think the starving people in Africa do so? No, they don't, for they have real troubles. We don't. That is the problem.
That basically answers the most of your questions.
Once again, I am glad to have heard from you. I'm heading for Nigeria. Let me know if you stop by sometime, and I might take you out hunting, where your only worries will be the hungry tiger in front of you.
Yours sincerely
Short story by Max Bäckström
Read 697 times
Written on 2007-04-20 at 10:10
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letter to an old friend
A good life.Letter to an old friend.
Dear John,
I haven't seen you for ages! How are you doing my friend? Anyways, I'm glad to hear from you.
I don't know which one of your questions to answer first. How my life is going? Well, remember what plans I had when we last saw each other? They proved to be a bit unrealistic. I didn't fit in the army and law just wasn't my cup of tea. I have only recently fully focused on my one true call. I am a poet now. And, to answer your other question, yes, it was me, not some other guy with the same name, but me, who wrote that book you mentioned. It is true that it is a bestseller and I now make enough money simply on my writing. I remember our nine years in grade school together, all that talk about growing up and settling down. I've let that go to. I want neither to grow up nor settle down. I am happy as a forever-young nomad. I am like a pilgrim now; I travel by foot from place to place, carrying only my computer and some clothing. Here and there I sit down, write for hours on end, until I have drained the place of its creative energy. Then I wander along to another place, another bench or another stone where my heart feels at home, and then I just let go of everything else and let the words flow.
It does get a bit lonely, though, and John, I intend to quit writing as soon as I finish my new novel. We have always had a close relationship you and I. We used to talk about all kinds of things, therefore I trust you with this secret.
It is eating me up from the inside, John, this writing-business. I can't sell my talent for nearly as much as it spiritually costs me. I've always talked about fame, you being my right hand and all, but fame comes with a price. A price low enough in the beginning, but it rises within due time. My fame is growing but so is the price I have to pay. I have sacrificed everything for this. There's is no time for love, no time for family. It would consume me, and my time. I chose solitude. I sometimes wonder what my life had been like, should I have done as you did. Your family sounds wonderful and it saddens me to know that my death would not be mourned by many. Perhaps a few readers, I even have fans, but no wife, no children, to lay flowers on my grave. At the other hand, I won't risk having to lay down flowers on somebody else's grave either. I do not miss love for I have never felt the need of it. Although, I do feel a need for being needed. Every word I type is a little bit of my soul. A little bit of my soul that I give away to others.
I have no home, as I said. I wander around, sleeping in the wild sometimes. I do have a fat bank account though, and a credit card to access it. I sometimes stay at fancy hotels, but I do not know a certain place as home. It would ruin my freedom, being tied to a specific home. Home is wherever I am.
I tried the army, right after school. I fumbled with a grenade and got kicked out within two weeks. After that, I studied law for four years. It didn't give me much but an advantage when negotiating terms for my book release. I met this girl there, the girl I blame for everything. Her name was Lilith, she was the smartest girl on campus and the most beautiful as well. She never knew I existed until I published a poem about her in the school paper. Of course I never spelled out her name, but she read between the lines and I one day found a letter lying on my desk. It was from her. We started dating and I was as happy as ever. We got engaged after six months. She was the love of my life. But, as I used to tell you when we were younger, it was the love in essence that made me suffer the way I did when it all went wrong. I always used to say that the very thing making love something wonderful is what will break it up one day. The human factor. She ripped the heart right out of my chest. It was the most humiliating thing I had ever went through, watching her kiss another man, not knowing that I was watching from the bus. I never confronted her about it. I jumped out of school and moved in with a friend in another town. I couldn't face her betrayal.
I considered suicide then, but you know me, I am too curious commit such an act of foolishness. I wanted answers on other things and decided I had never loved that woman at all. It was easier that way. I told myself I had only played around, that I, in fact, had been exploiting her. I did it to save myself from the pain but it was strong and required stronger lies. Soon I began to believe them myself. I began to think that she was innocent and I was the player. I blamed myself for the emptiness I was responsible for. I became an empty shell. And I am partly still in it.
Now you know what has happened to me the last ten years. But do not feel sorry for me, John, I have good enough money, I never go hungry and I have health insurance. What more can one ask for? This is what my next book will be about – the human need of worrying which is now an unnecessary instinct. Instead of worrying about what to eat today or what dangers we might encounter, we turn our worries to something that lies closer. In today's society we have nothing serious to worry about, but it is in our nature to do so. In addition to it we start worrying and contemplating about the very meaning of our existence. Do you think the starving people in Africa do so? No, they don't, for they have real troubles. We don't. That is the problem.
That basically answers the most of your questions.
Once again, I am glad to have heard from you. I'm heading for Nigeria. Let me know if you stop by sometime, and I might take you out hunting, where your only worries will be the hungry tiger in front of you.
Yours sincerely
Short story by Max Bäckström
Read 697 times
Written on 2007-04-20 at 10:10
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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