Dear Grace,
In a Crap Mood
The last 24 hours have been awful—I’ve been in such a bad mood.
Where do I even begin? I helped Elise take some people from the airport to Lo Pagán, and the whole experience left me feeling like a taxi driver. Worse, they paid for my meal, and I felt so uncomfortable about it. Why does that bother me so much? It’s not Elise’s fault. I put myself in that situation.
Also at Dinner, it was like being back at work, putting on this fake, inauthentic front because I did not want to jeopardise the deal for Elise. I hated it.
The Rude Apartment Checker
Then there’s the guy who checks apartments. I didn’t tell him I was still here, and he sent me a message:
“Hi. Just been to yours and there’s someone there. Can you please let me know? I’ve driven half an hour for nothing.”
This isn’t the first time he’s sent me rude messages. My responses were “Sorry, I forgot to tell you.” “Ok, but you need to stop with this attitude.” “You lost a key of mine, and I let it go.”
His only reply? “Okay.”
No apology, nothing. I’m done. When the contract is up in February, I won’t be renewing it.
President of the Autocratic Communal Committee of Playamar
Then there’s J*, the president of the community here, and L*, another resident. L* is a moaner who refuses to take any responsibility for anything.
I put in the effort to get quotes for some improvements, but what response do I get?
“The computer says no.”
Johan makes decisions without consulting anyone and dismisses every suggestion unless it’s his idea. It’s infuriating.
Can I Really Live Here for 6 Months of the year?
I’m starting to have second thoughts about living in Lo Pagán for six months a year.
With you, it was perfect. Just me and you, doing things together—cycling, day trips, shopping, eating out. I didn’t need anyone else. I miss that so much.
Maybe you were right when you said staying in one place long-term wasn’t for me. Perhaps I was kidding myself that it could work.
The Growing Pimple
The pimple on my neck has developed a huge whitehead. I’m certain there’s a cyst underneath that needs removing. I want to pop it so badly, but I know it’ll take longer to heal—and I risk infecting it.
Spanish Immersion
I spent today immersed in Spanish—watching TV and reading online. It’s not as bad as I’d convinced myself. Focusing on the language has helped me let go of everything I just ranted about… except the pimple, of course!
Counting Down to Colombia
I’m ready to go to Colombia. But with 11 weeks left until my flight, I’m wondering if I should move it forward. That said, I need to wait for the furniture to be delivered to the apartment first.
This Works for Me
Writing to you is so much better than keeping a boring diary. I can talk to you just as I always did, and the words flow so easily. It’s like having a conversation with someone who knows me better than anyone.
I don’t think I’ll ever find anyone like you again—and that’s okay. No one will ever come close.
Grief
My grief is still so raw, and it feels like an excuse for my anger—at myself, at others, at the world. But I know I need to move forward. So f@@k the small-minded people holding me back.
And before you ask, no—I’m not ready to see Rutger. And Sarah? Definitely not.
I love you always,
David
