Federico,
To read your words was like seeing you.
It could be said that a few words of yours pulled me out of the black soil of my hometown, drawing me out from the darkness. In the words where I encountered you, I ended up seeing myself as well. When I read the paragraph about "el negro", I felt as though a part of me had been seen through.
We’ve only met a few times, and yet you already seemed to notice so many things about me. I start to think that if I told you what my spirit animal is, perhaps you would be able to see my true form haha, even the hidden parts of my spirit. I’m not someone who is used to being seen. Very rarely do I place myself at the center of attention. My spirit animal always appears at the edge of the forest, among crowds, on the border between light and darkness. Do you already have an intuition of what it might be?
I’ve always believed that I give people a cold impression, like a snake, someone who seems to carry a certain danger and who gives off a feeling of distance and coldness. Just one day before you asked me what my animal portrait would be, someone told me I was a fox. He used the words “zorro” and “astuto.” I found it interesting, though at the time I completely disagreed with his description. I thought I wasn’t cunning at all, but instead unusually transparent. But after you asked me that question, I began thinking of my spirit animal, and surprisingly I couldn’t think of any creature more fitting than 🦊. So yes, it seems I really am a fox. I think I would be the fox from The Little Prince. The one who speaks loudly: “I am not an animal that can be tamed.”
I wouldn’t ask the Little Prince to tame me, nor would I ask him to come see me at the same time every day, slowly approaching me little by little. I truly am like that little fox in some ways. When I become curious about someone, I keep an observing distance, while at the same time hoping the other person will approach me first. But I cannot accept the idea of being “tamed.” My pleasure lies more in “taming” others. And driven by curiosity, I deeply enjoy watching the process through which someone approaches me, as though only then do things begin to feel real, and there is something extraordinarily beautiful about that kind of closeness. I think that is also why I’m so obsessed with Bird and Mirror No.3.
So yes, I really am a fox. A sensitive, ambiguous, and curious fox.
Lately, I’ve realized that imagining my hometown as a strange city makes it easier to break through the stagnation of thought. Perhaps because it gives me space to breathe and a sense of freedom. It allows me to temporarily peel myself away from suffocating memories, from countless versions of myself, and briefly return to my essential self. Since coming back home, my body seems to have developed something close to a loss of appetite. In the midst of this constant confusion between day and night, my body clearly feels somewhat shocked by returning here. Every time I lie down, I have heavy and damp dreams. The cicadas of early summer keep sounding through the night while I remain lying silently in bed for long periods of time. The silence inside this house feels like a thin white plastic film carefully floating in the air, carrying the tension of this home’s memories. Like a kind of white terror. Like a transparent elephant inside the room wrapping around my curled-up body. Instinctively, I adopt a fetal position. I remain silent for long stretches of time, and yet every second countless voices pass through time and reach my ears, piercing through my tightly wrapped body and leaving behind tiny invisible holes. I’m almost moved by this kind of calm. Memories drag me along until I forget to breathe. I confront this space in a primitive and natural posture, as though it has already become an automatic bodily protection mechanism. The colors on the walls seem to be screaming wildly. The images and words that my younger sister and I once pasted there with our own hands have now, when I’m alone, become black shadows. I like that monotonous color. I feel that when I wear black, I become lighter, more real, purer, more natural. As though I could quietly dissolve into the night.
As I read about the effort you made in order to continue reading my words, I felt sorry for you. To split apart the time of your own night just to continue reading a piece of writing… I’m not sure whether it is truly worth it. When I read your description of that intriguing party, I felt both fascination and shyness. I don’t know much about philosophy, and my relationship with politics has always been somewhat superficial; most of the time I only become interested in gender politics through cinema. Even though I’m around the same age as them, I’m not sure I could speak as effortlessly as they do. You, on the other hand, have such a witty and lovely way of expressing yourself. I can easily imagine you enjoying that pleasant night.
And yes, I listened to Blue. I especially loved The Last Time I Saw Richard. Joni’s voice fit perfectly with the experience of reading your words. Also, I’m trying to build my website. It isn’t very easy, but I like the idea that perhaps you could leave me a message here, or write me a letter in whichever way you prefer. Time to disclose the title：this is A letter from Fox!