To the one I wrote letters to
I'm still mad at you.
I gave my all for you while I also took care of my own stuff. I was a foreigner. My family was nowhere near me. I didn't fit in: too foreign for the locals, and too local for the foreigners.
I gave you a chance, even when you didn't show up at our first meeting.
I gave you a chance, even when you kept giving excuses about money and language. I never cared about the money, and I was willing to work through the language barriers.
I gave you my firsts.
I gave you what you wanted. You even got advantages after I left.
All I got was a broken dignity.
I admit. My communication skills about my emotions weren't great. I blew up on you and you had no idea. I'm sorry.
I'm not excusing you for that though. You said you knew me, but did you really? Did you know that I felt alone amongst your friends, as well as mine? Did you know that my ego kept being struck down after each failed exam? Did you know that I had no idea what the hell I was doing in a different country?
No. Because you only knew the person who was there for you, the one who comforted you, the one who smiled.
Every time that person wasn't happy, you said, "I wish things were like before. Back in the beginning."
You wanted to be comfortable. Meanwhile, I was struggling the entire time I was there.
Even to this day, I hate it when I get reminded of you.
I wish for the day I can just forget about you.
Sincerely, Me