A Letter to Red Mist

/ Monday, September 13, 2010 /

Dear Red Mist,

You remind me of those cheesy primetime soaps that I used to watch without fail before I discovered Buffy, Roswell and Charmed.

I spoke of Venice and you don't even have a clue of its existence. In your own nook of geography, Europe is simply synonymous to America. I told you about my failed attempts in consistently doing Yoga but you thought I was doing belly dancing instead. You didn't even laugh at my no-pun-intended lines. Okay, I know you don't get them at all.

Yet your unassuming manner and untainted view of the world impressed me. I only know of a few people who lead lives that are uncomplicated as yours; I can even count them with one hand alone. Your zest for life and positivity overshadowed my affinity for drama, ironies and the so-called beautiful disasters.

You have this ambiguous effect on me and I find it difficult to grasp its meaning.

Why am I becoming again that single moth dancing around the flame?

Maybe we'll learn something from each other and burning myself is part of the process. Your sudden arrival could be the Cosmos' way of telling me to start paying attention to things that matter the most and stop selling my soul to deadlines and pseudo-priorities.

And you? What can you learn from me?
It's about time I buy you a world map.



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