Letter #1 (or, How everything started)

Me and Alessio met the first time in high school.
I didn’t keep in contact with anyone of my high-school mates. Alessio is one of the few that, sporadically, wrote me now and then.

Over the course of the past 2 years our correspondence intensified, for various reasons. One day Alessio’s life took a strange turn of events – you’ll find that strange turn in letter 10 – when he was confronted with the knowledge that a killer entered his life.
You can find here the background that lead to that encounter – how it grew from a normal correspondence between two old-time friend to the horrific tales that followed.

November 24th, 2014.

Dear Dr. C,
I’ve noticed you’ve accepted my networking request (today is hip to say so).

I’m sorry I interrupted our correspondence months ago. Albeit sporadic, it was nice to read you. My excuse is, I’ve been busy living the life in Rome, studying for a very expensive Master, and stalking old-time killers who hide themselves in the cracks of society. More on that, eventually.

You look nothing like I remember you. Years painted your face and made you older, in a good way. I recognise the eyes and the spirit tho. And you might not believe me when I tell you that yes, I do think about you often, for intellectual reasons of course.

I remember how you could face an interrogation, in high school, without studying. I always admired that, and suffering from a huge inferiority complex when it comes down to my intelligence – which is high, anyway; it’s just I always want more – I always envied this attitude of yours, and your skills of learning complex things quickly.

But memories apart – are you gonna tell me about your life? What is happening? From my side, the last months have been a whirlwind of despair. This Master is sucking life out of me, and I’m old, dead weight for the work system, at the old age of 30-something. I look at them – the people in my class; they’re 30, 32, 29. For us elderly, the whole process is stale; even the interviews we get for the internship after the Master are second-class.

Life passes by while we are in classes that are supposed to teach us how to live.

Maybe abroad is different? I want to move. I need to move. I’ve always said it, and never did it. I’ve been stuck in my small town for too long now and only recently I’ve noticed the limits I imposed myself by staying here (especially regarding cultivating my passions).

My colleagues from the Master keep saying that I made a mistake. That my passion for Cinema is palpable, that I should have pursued this. But I don’t believe it anymore. My life has been an eternal compromise. It’s so sad to realise I did it wrong.

And you? What about you? What tales do you have for me?
I rely on your answer.
I won’t read this again before sending it, hoping that you won’t mind about the errors that I’m sure are plentty. I hope you can forgive me for this as well.

A big hug,

8 thoughts on “Letter #1 (or, How everything started)

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