A reply to a friend I don't know

Hi J.,

Thank you for reading my essay. 

I love what you wrote about it too. Not because of an ego thing, but because somehow it touched you. I don't know you, of course, but it means that we communicated and sometimes I miss that. I miss writing something that's going to be read by someone else. 

Yes, I don't show my writing to many people. I show it to some people. People that I think will be able to understand and/or appreciate what I write. I also think that most people like lighter stuff and they'd get tired of the stuff I write. English is not my first language and I cannot say that I struggle to write in English (I just go ahead and write - I try not think about it), but I can certainly tell you that I struggled a lot to learn what I know. 

Living in the United States has always been a bit bittersweet for me. I don't know why I am telling you all this. I think I've been thirsty for talking to someone who would give me the attention we give to new things. Many things you wrote are very true. You captured the essence of my essay very well. Writing is so revealing. It frightens me. Almost.

Time is funny. For someone who tries to write every single day and who struggles when she doesn't write, one and a half years is a long time. I've been through a lot since then. Yes, I've grown much more. Not necessarily in good ways.

I am conflicted right now. Should I answer your questions? Should I just make you more curious? What would be the purpose of that, though? 

So, I delight myself drinking some light white wine, listening to tango - En Las Buenas y En Las Malas, and I write. I answer your questions with a ton of information you didn't ask for. I lend you some images from side of the story. Maybe hoping that it's going to be well read again. Or maybe just believing that I am writing my own small truth. 

I was in Florida when I wrote that essay. I wrote it because I have this urge about having someone love me for this intensity that doesn't stop, because my writing is a photography of what people cannot see. They see me, they have their own assumptions of my persona, they see the huge green eyes, the smile, the funky style, but they don't really know what's underneath all that. They have no clue. So, if someone wants to really love me, they have to communicate with the invisible. Less than that would be half-love, breadcrumbs. I refuse to take that. Because that's not what I offer. Because that's not what my mind wants. That's not what's going to give me what I need. Or what I think I need. 

The context? I had met someone and I was starting to feel tango. I took tango for a few months and gave up on it. I needed a break. Yes, I would write it today because it's a beautiful piece (no pretense) and it represents somehow how I feel about life. I am still growing. I cannot stop it. I don't want to settle. Life has been a little tougher lately and I haven't read as much or enjoyed art as much, but I am immersed in tango and that makes me grow. I cannot tell you how much I've learned since I got back to tango last September. 

I think I will always grow because I am curious about so many things and those things are so intricate and difficult and powerful. That's what keeps me alive.The possibility of being. 

If you vented your curiosity with me, I have fed it the best I could with words.