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Dear Kalap,

It’s been almost twenty years since we last saw each other, I think.

I want to apologize for my actions on the playground that day. I also want to tell you a bit about what was going on for me.

It’s not to excuse what I did, but perhaps the perspective into my life will help you in some way.

On the surface, the same racist assholes who were teasing you were asking me, when you weren’t around, “Why are you friends with Kalap?”

The right answer–the assertive answer–would be, among others: “Because he doesn’t ask me why I’m friends with people that I like.”

However, as you well know, I did not give the right answer. I hunkered down, I tried to shrink into myself, hoping they would go away, but they never did.

As a test of friendship, I did fail you on that day; in my defense, however, I was equipped against a successful friendship.

My parents had recently divorced, and my father’s advice about bullies was something like, “Don’t let them get to you,” which is just about the same as saying to somebody standing in the rain, “Don’t get wet,” while refusing to let them stand under your umbrella.

I had no other friends to talk to about it… and I don’t think I talked to you, either. At the very least, I don’t remember talking to you about it at all.

So indeed, I did fail that test… but the test of integrity and loyalty was so incredibly difficult, it probably would have been some sort of small miracle if I had passed.

I hope that this brings you some clarity about what happened almost twenty years ago. I hope it brings a little peace, and perhaps some relief, if even but a small bit.

I cannot repair the damage, it is too long gone. I can only offer a salve to soften the scar.

All the best,

James Alexander Pyrich

Ever since I’ve moved into this apartment, I’ve had to cope with not having my furniture. It’ll be arriving roughly a week after my next paycheck (which was the earliest I could afford moving my belongings cross-country), and so I’m looking at about another two weeks of intimacy with the floor.

I think that if it had been even six months ago, I would have grumbled every time I sat down, groaned every time I got up, and complained about it quite a lot.

It certainly isn’t the most comfortable situation, but compared to all the places I could be right now if I hadn’t made the decisions I did…

It’s better than being homeless.
It’s better than working at my last job.
It’s better than living with my ex.
It’s better than living with my last roommate.
It’s better than living with my family.

Overall, the move to Denver was a HUGE win for me… I’m settling into the land, as it were. I’m feeling connected like I haven’t before. I’m not self-isolating nearly as much. I’m not self-attacking nearly as much. My friends help me immensely, and I help them.

I like my job! I’m in therapy! I’m starting to think–nay, feel–more and more what it is that I want.

I have Joy in my heart, for the first time in my life.

If I have to sit on the floor for a month to get what I want, that’s exactly what I will do.

Some follow-up thoughts to the journal entries posted earlier today:

Picking Nits Off of the Wooly Mammoth of Goodness

The Child – 2009-02-21 Morning Visit

As always, please do not share the contents of these posts with others:

2009-02-20 09:46

2009-02-20 11:10

2009-02-21 07:52

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