I guess if you are reading this letter now, that means I haven’t depleted us of our savings by running back to Brazil. That also means that I survived what seemed to be yesterday’s food poisoning, though I’m still a little nauseated. It may be the pregnancy. Or it may be the fact that I got an e-mail from one of our last AirBnB guests. Do you remember Steve?
Steve was an American with Taiwanese descent that lives in Seattle. He had a weird moustache and haircut combination, as if he were in a sort of World War II poorly produced biopic.
“Weird fella,” you told me.
This may be the most important letter, the most important reason why we can’t be married or together. I’m not sure if you remember details about him, since you didn’t talk to Steve as much as I did. I was the one who received him at the house, who helped him with his laundry and he brought me some donuts from those shops that are so trendy in Cork right now.
Steve had just gotten divorced from his second wife and came to Ireland to find himself. He found me instead.
In my defence, we were never officially anything. The most official we ever were was roommates, and that was a while ago. You and I never had rules. I mean, we never had rules other than the fact that I sleep facing the wall because you wake up to pee too often.
The first rule about our relationship that you tried to establish was by proposing. So we went from strangers to acquaintances to sleeping-togetherers (?) to… husband and wife? Is that how the progression works?
So I slept with Steve. Not because I’m from a different country, not because I was particularly needy or because you lack something. Because I wanted to, really. And since when you read those letters I’ll be long gone, I can be finally be straight about this. The opportunity presented itself and I felt like it was the right moment.
Sometimes, when you are in a foreign country, it’s almost as if the rules don’t apply to you. It’s like keeping your diet when you are on a holiday. By avoiding that artisanal mango ice cream, you are wasting a lifetime opportunity, just because you’re in Costa Rica.
The stakes don’t work the same way they do at home. If you live in Costa Rica, you know you can have artisanal mango ice cream any time. But when would this opportunity present itself again?
Even though I’m pretending to have no problem with it, I feel guiltier than you can imagine. I think it must be due to the fact that the more I stay in Ireland, the less foreign it feels. When I go to the Gate Cinema, I get cheerful when I see that ad for North Mall street businesses. “Giddy” is a word that comes to my mind, but I’m not sure if that’s the right one. I know the pet shop owner in the video. Because we get our dog food there. Thinking about that now makes me realise all of that. I guess I’m sorry, though I don’t regret it. I don’t know those words well enough to know if those feelings are exclusive. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I think maybe I’m no longer in a weird exotic holiday.
Also, we should buy some more dog food. Izzy doesn’t like the new one and is being a little rebellious.
Please take care of Izzy after I’m gone,