Dear Jane,
I cannot help but thinking that my life is going nowhere. Everyday I would wake up to the same thing over and over again. All the dreams I once had were no longer there. I no longer have the passion and purpose to continue with life. I am still hoping for life to be better for me, but I am consciously doing nothing with my condition right now. As crazily insane as I am, I do still acknowledge that hope with zero practice equals bullocks.
There are so many things that I want to say but I can’t. Want to do but I won’t. I just wish I can escape this place as soon as possible. But with the current state of the world right now, God knows when will it be. I feel like I no longer have purpose in this life. I was never in control of my life. Not that I eager to have it now, but, perhaps it will be a little nice to be a captain of your own ship– that is your life?
I wonder why people in moving pictures seem so purposeful and zealous towards their goals. Is there such thing? I was always like that; the person with fire on her eyes and heart. The eyes that glow. The heart that grows. The purpose and dream that engine the fights and never dare to give up. But now, isn’t it tiring? Oh my dear God, I am, tired. Aren’t you?
Wonder when I started to change. And why. I cannot seem to remember. Of course this has everything to do with how much my own life betrays me and all the blood that I have shed, the tears that I have dropped. And, of course, this too is an excuse, for I cannot tell is it betrayal, or is it just how life is. Full of wine, roses, and darkness too, on the main menu. We really gotta be friends with our own silence. How does it feel to you, Leslie?
Maybe that is just the way it is. C’est la vie.
Perhaps I only want to be happy. Yet the world showed me a hundred different ways to achieve that, which I found as I grow up, are so much complicated. Why do achieving happiness have to be so complicated these days? Can’t a man just rest in her small house up in the hill, do nothing particularly massive in society, not caring about being infamous, not wanting for anything more, yet live peacefully day to day?
I know I am insane. I know I am crazy. I know my mind is beyond realistic. I know I am a bullock. But I cannot care for more. In fact, I do not care. I am insane, and I am crazy, and all I want is just to be happy. Perhaps that is what most human want, only ironically, for most human, that is not the only thing that they want. They will always want more, more, and more. I am so sick of everything.
When we human stop wanting for things, I think I will finally be happy. On that day. May sound selfish to you, but my dear; all humans are. I am laughing myself out right now. The insane level of my imagination prisons myself towards the reality of life. It is starting to approach its peak level, that it becomes funny, for it is impossible. Yet I am, still. I don’t know. I can’t seem to control my state of being, and my happiness, in a world like this.
I wish I could just say goodbye to this world and start my life again in a different world. Not that I want to die. I don’t want to die. I want to live. But I don’t want to continue the journey in this life again. It’s getting bored and dark. Can’t a man want a new scenery of life? I want to build a new life. I want to move. I want to start again. I want to go back to zero. I want to live, a new life.
I wish the magic train that once appeared in my dream is real. I would take that train; a train that never stop in any exact time or location.
But for now, I am just, yeah, okay.
Maybe one day I will tell you about the magic train.
Ever so sorry,
Leslie
[This note was found in Leslie’s private notebook. It was not until 1960 that the notebook delivered to Jane. Leslie died five years prior.]
viramundo 