Something about traveling alone has me feeling very at odds.
Visiting Darrin in Madrid was great, spending time with him was fun and natural and needed.
But then going to Amsterdam to visit an aunt who's actually my dads cousin, who I met once when I was 7. And to become so fully integrated in her life in a matter of days and then move on. It's so strange.

I don't become homesick ever and I do not feel homesick at all on this trip. I feel less lonely among strangers than I do at home. The difference is that over here, I am a foreigner. I do not fully understand these languages or cultures or fully know anyone here. But that does not feel any different than in the US.

The study abroad group, I've never met any of them until Sunday and now we act as if we're all best friends. My knowledge of the Czech language is disgustingly abysmal, except now I can read it except for this ř which is like a tongue roll with "sh" but in less than a split second and I've been practicing it under my breath every time I read something on the street with it.
But I feel completely comfortable being alone in this city and navigating places by myself and just being here.

And I understand that much of that comes from my privelege of being American, but it does not make sense to me how I can feel so similar here, except with more liberation.

I used to be afraid of moving far from home but so far, this trip has shown me that I can be alone because I've always been alone. And it is much more enjoyable to be alone somewhere else than to be alone where you're not supposed to be.

Over and out.

My love, My Love, my love, my love, my love.

My love,
I thought I had downs when we were together but I never expected anything like this.
I had forgotten what it was like to want to be gone from every moment and to not forget how to be able to take a compliment, or believe you when you say you love me.

My love,
I always tried to avoid starting arguments when I'm upset because I know I overreact,
but for some reason I can't stop coming up with a reason to just enjoy time with you.
It only seems like what you do is a mistake because every single text I write or word I speak to you comes out like it never should have been created in my head and that silence is better than the pathetic scraps of meaningless conversation I don't even put into language, and the only thing I'm ever certain of is argument.

My love,
you told me to stay away from someone and I trusted your judgment.
When I finally asked you why it's because she was depressed too.
Because she would cut off communication with some boy who's confidence and self assurance would make an Olympic gold medalist laugh, who of course has never and will never receive a gold medal in any sense.
What makes me any different?

My love,
I don't know how this whole 'love' thing is supposed to work.
If you're supposed to fall in love with someone for every part of them, even their flaws, then where does this mental space fall in this spectrum?
I've been told depression is not part of my personality. But if it is something that has followed me my entire life, how can it not be? How do you fall in love with depression?
How do you fall in love with something that constantly demands attention but does nothing when it finally receives it?
How do you fall in love with fake conversation and dropping faces and heavy walking and the uncertainty that I might be like this for a long, long time?

My love,
I don't even have love for myself anymore.
I'm trying my hardest but I don't think thats enough, and I'm almost certain it won't be enough for you.

Everything makes me want to cry and nothing makes me want to smile.
I'm no longer the person you fell in love with, I'm sadness personified, and sadness can only take from a relationship.

I give a lot of myself away to slot of people, I always have. 

I've claimed to be an open book, and I really am. 

I have no problems telling a stranger everything about myself that I feel is essential to know. 

So long as I can get rid of that stranger. 

My problems with intimacy isn't that I can't tell someone my inner workings, my problem is letting myself believe that someone cares. 

Because who cares?

What does it even mean to care? 

Is it through something as simple as a six second orgasm?

Or is it supposed to be more complex than that

Complexity is practically my nonexistent middle name 

I'm convinced my parents didn't give me a middle name in order for me to fill it with an identity I'm always going to fight over. 

David Rodriguez is one of the most common names in the world. 

I don't get a second last name in the United States, where I'm capable of establishing my identity through English. 

I'm unique in Colombia where I have such a disconnect in the language that I'm simply a smile, a nod, and the primo or nieto que aparece como su padre. 

Mi padre que nunca habla, solo goces cuando alguien habla en su dirección. 

My personality is my mother's, who conveys everything through words and beauty. 

I don't get the feminine luxuries of expression through makeup and clothing styles, I rely on my words. 

Mi piel es blanco, el mejor color en los ojos de mi familia. 

Pero en verano, soy el mismo color de caramelo. 

Dulce, el sabor mas apreciado en ese país. 

When I visit Colombia, it's too early for me to become this valued taste. 

I'm white and bland and my words come out as too much of a struggle to signify a taste other than plain, white, American. 

But in America, I look foreign and I'm reminded of it through the fetishization of white gay men and the hatred of bigots. 

I cannot win and I will always be disconnected between cultures. 

This nuevo cultura isn't worthy of being an identity of its own, it does not get the label of identity because it's different to different people. 

I rely on the judgment of others too much to label this identity for myself. 

I am alone and I am not good company because I cannot sing, I am not fluent in a musical instrument, I am not fluent in the words of my own emotions and thoughts and I am therefore not fluent in any forms of self expression. 

I am not fluent In English and I am not fluent in Spanish and there is no in between to be fluent in. 

I'm not fluent in any friendship because no one is fluent in the language of my soul. 

Soul looks like a pretty word, but does not sound as pretty as an alma. 

The words mean the same thing in translation, but they individually mean something different to me. 

The word soul means little to nothing and the word alma means too much for someone as petty as me to be able to use. 

I realized I feel comfortable in depression 

I realize that I'm hard to love. 

It's hard for me to give my all to one person when I don't really have an 'All'. 

I break myself up into different people for my different friends and situations, and if you only know me through one context then you don't really know me at all. 

I'm very particular and my moods change a lot and the only consistency in my attitudes and behavior is the fact that they will always be inconsistent. 

I won't be able to say 'I love you' because the only people I say that to are long past gone and never heard me say it to them in person. 

I won't be able to feel love towards you until you've made me hate you, until I've cried over you, until I've wanted to run away because of you. 

I won't be able to hold your hand in public because I'm not capable of holding an straightforward gaze by myself in public. I'm too afraid there's something wrong with my appearance, and think about how awkwardly I walk. 

I won't be able to reciprocate my feelings because they'll never stay the same from one day to the next. 

I can take care of you and make you my first priority, and I can understand your sadness, and I can make you feel better, but you won't be able to do the same for me. 

I'm upset because you deserve better and I'm upset because I want to be better, but I'm not 

The river has become my best friend 

You don't need to share your happiness with everyone in order to validate it.
You can just be happy without having to prove it to anyone.
You can just be happy without thinking about it.
Thinking about it too much won't do much good, might just ruin it.

I always felt the need to share my wonders with people, like when I was younger and we drove through Boston, I would ask my older sister to look up every five seconds at a sign I thought looked cool or a building that was taller and shinier than anything that could possibly be labelled as ordinary.
She didn't care much and didn't really look up to see it, and that is completely valid.

When I started getting really depressed in high school, I would tell it to the world through facebook statuses or xanga posts where I could get validated with a 'like' or see who viewed it, etc.
And I would tell new friends whom I did not even care for deeply a lot of the time, my entire "life's story."
The story would be about a boy and that was so fucking stupid. 'Your' story should never ever revolve around someone else; then it's their story filled with their emotions and feelings and infinite amount of untold experiences, and you are an insignificant background character who has no depth or dimensions other than through them.
Stupid.

My sadness became more complex and I rightfully stopped blaming it on a person and started looking deeper into it, and realized I just have a lot of self-work to do, not one person's fault other than my own mind's. So I stopped talking about it.
My 'friends' don't know a clue about how I'm feeling unless they ask, which they never do, which is completely valid. They're living their own lives in different cities and towns with different people and I am a one-dimensional background character. For closer friends, I have a few more dimensions.
For myself, I have a ton, but generally three.
1. Social david who does very nice things for everyone and enjoys conversation, sometimes with no filter
2. Asocial david who is alone all the time and would rather stay in and spend time alone with another person he enjoys alot
3. depressed david who comes out knocking everything down whenever he feels like it

Most see 1, a lot less see 3, a handful see 2.