The Other Caroline (the Twenty-first Chapter)

Okay, maestro, it’s time to talk about Mexico. It will basically be the story of how someone tries to get on with their life after everything has collapsed. My life in Israel ended with a stress reaction. It was followed by an excursion into the world of drugs that brought with it a spiritual calamity. The third meth binge got me to the point of realizing that I was going to die if I ever did anything like that again. Or worse. Wind up in a sanatorium. So I tried to return to the world of the living, but I could not return to my previous state of mind. Madness had not completely abandoned me, and, if all that weren’t enough, my delusions were entangled with threads of a love story towards a girl I did not know and could not contact.

I had traveled a lot in my life. I had not been able to maintain many connections throughout my life such as friends from elementary school or college. Further, I was divorced. I had not had a nuclear family with me for several years. In fact, my daughter was with her boyfriend in Germany on the other side of the world. Thank God, over time we have been able to heal many things in our relationship. The problem with Alia is that the most important thing for her has always been her independence. It was more important than anything else. Your father, for example, may be your father; but, according to her, that does not give you any right to involve yourself in your daughter’s life. She would only permit me to go to Germany to be with her if I promised to basically have no effect on her whatsoever.

On the other hand, in Arizona I had Chloe, but she lived a typical college student life with boyfriends and friends of both genders young and beautiful. I didn’t feel like I had a place with her. And finally, I had my mother, who lived the life of a retired old woman in Scottsdale, Arizona, watching the news on television every day and working in the garden. But I had already lived with my mother for a while after the Army, and I lived with her again for a while after she moved to Arizona before I went to Israel. I just wasn’t up for building my life around my mom at that point. Simply put, after the experiences with Noah’s songs and drugs with Chaz and Haley, I didn’t feel like I had a connection to anyone.

I only had my friend George. Like me, he was divorced and had retired from the military with PTSD. He had financial obligations to take care of, but he wanted to travel when he was ready. Above all, he wanted to travel the Hispanic world, to visit Spain and South America. I decided to accompany him. So I thought I should learn Spanish. It was there that the idea of ​​traveling to Mexico appeared. I was close by and I also had an aunt in Guadalajara. I had no idea what I had to learn from all the experiences I had had. The Electrochemical Girl had me locked out. It was then, in that condition, that I arrived in Mexico in January 2020 only with the intention of figuring out my life while learning Spanish.

I tell you, maestro, Mexico is a strange beast. Even more so in the eyes of a schizophrenic. The first place I stayed was a hostel on Calle López Cotilla, near the Juárez Station. Also staying there were six young and beautiful Australian paramedics who were studying in Mexico. And one was interested in me! I do not know why. I had cut my hair and lost fifteen kilograms from the all the speed, but I was by no means a cool young athlete. She probably just wanted to have adventures away from home. For my part, everything made me nervous and the whole thing about the beautiful girls from overseas was too much for me. I tried to avoid them, and I think that’s why I earned some animosity from them.

It was a strange phenomenon to go from Israel where talking to a young woman got the police called on me to earning animosity from beautiful young women for not wanting to be around them. Mexico had a thing for trying to ensnare me. Or so I would come to feel. This will be a thing that I will continue to point out.

Anyway, one paramedic from South Africa arrived perhaps a week after the others. She is the only one I still talk to, though not often. In fact, she returned to her country after spending a year in Mexico. She has told me that she would like to come back soon. Her name is Micaela, and of course I took an opportunity to receive messages from the Archangel Michael. Yes, psychosis was still with me at times. Apophenia? Sometimes yes, sure. But I can’t be sure about always. I have already told you that every moment I was creating connections between whatever was there. Not always, but sometimes my friend’s name stimulated me mentally to find holy things in whatever she said. I don’t remember many details about it, but there is an interesting thing that I still have very much in my memory.

At that time I had been thinking a lot about reincarnation, about the kinds of things that would have happened before this life. My thoughts at the time seemed to frequently drift to ideas that echoed a lot of the philosophy that I attribute to Satan. Since I was inclined to think like Satan about reality, I did not rule out the possibility that I had been Satan myself in a previous life.

I remember explaining this to Micaela and she answered me clearly and confidently that nothing I was telling her was possible. The tone of tone of her reply was very comforting to me. I felt like I ahd received long-awaited answers from heaven.

It’s funny, but this dialogue is a good example of what my mental state was like at the time. I was a functional guy, but my mind frequently wanted to make connections between what was happening to me and my spirituality. Sometimes I found very interesting correspondences without being able to determine if they were real or not.

That first month in Mexico, before COVID, was absolutely different from Israel. There I was isolated and considered a threat to all the beautiful young people, even though I was a harmless man, who had sincerely lived according to his vows as a monk. In Mexico, on the contrary, being a nervous, crazy and strange guy were attributes worth celebrating, it seemed. Everybody just loved me and wanted to be around me. In Israel, everyone was always busy. In Mexico, everyone went out to drink, and every day they had get togethers after work, regardless of the fact that most of them had to work six days a week. Every Monday in Chapultepec, there were hundreds of people dancing in the street. In a previous email I wrote you that I had the impression that nothing was real, that it was nothing more than a dream. Mexico seemed like a dream that hid behind the ordinary things of life and that drove me crazy with its too-frequent coincidences and its indigestible moral and philosophical themes. And Mexico was a wet dream. Succulent fruits hung low from every tree.

I remember one day walking down Avenida Juárez I stared at the ocean of splendid girls that were around me. Suddenly, for no particular reason, my eyes fell on a wonderful woman of no more than 25 years. She was slender, and her skin was soft and smooth like incense from a stick of cinnamon, like a stream of caramel poured from the sky. To my surprise, she suddenly stopped and looked at me in amazement. It was as if a spirit was possessing her, and directed her to ogle me, and almost for sheer fun was now determined to offer her to me.

Very soon, maestro, Mexico gave me reason to think that it wanted to trap me with a woman. I think my sense of fidelity to the Electrochemical Girl combined with these perceptions of women offering themselves to me to create this effect in my mind. So after being rejected in Israel, in many senses, but most especially by women, the ladies of Mexico seemed determined to swallow me whole.

I enrolled in a Spanish course at iMAC, which is not an Apple computer but a language school with the same name as the computer. There I met Declan, another student, who introduced me to a friend, Javier, a lawyer who worked at a taco stand near the school. Javier was gay and his best friend was named Betty. She was Mexican, but her name was Betty. You don’t ask me why. I know nothing. I used to go out with Javier sometimes, and I think he wanted to give me the D. As for Betty, she was twenty-four and had just ended a multi-year relationship with a man in his fifties. Apparently she was looking for another relationship of this type with the first one older guy who crossed her path. I was not interested. Yes, believe it or not, I am not addicted to youngsters.

Also, there was a Mexican student of English at the school. Her name was Minerva. She was very small, skinny, with short hair and the eyes of a doe. She was only eighteen. And a darketa. I was delighted. Her sensitivity and vulnerability were incredible. I’m telling you, if, if anyone could have distracted me from Noah and Israel, it would have been her. I told her that I had a great trauma with a girl her age in Israel. She didn’t say much, but she made me feel welcomed. It seemed to me that having a friendship with her might be good for me. Apparently being accepted by a young woman was still important for me.

I went out with her one night. We went to a karaoke bar with some students from the school. I hate karaoke, maestro. I don’t sing at all. I am capable of killing flowers simply by humming. It’s terrible. Absolutely terrible. So when it was my turn, I decided avoid the problem of not being able to sing by rapping an Eminem song. “The Way I Am.” That song made for a good anthem of how I felt about Israel and my life. My choice of that song was probably the result of my need to express my anxiety and anger about everything that had happened in Israel and in the United States.

When I started off, I really got into it. And the crowd went wild. You wouldn’t believe it, maestro. The the audience was cheered and begged for an encore when I was done. I brought down the house. While I was rapping they clapped, they whistled, they stomped their feet. A lot of them started standing. I was the hero of the bar. Minerva was very impressed. Everything seemed to be going very well, but, to my surprise, not long after my act, her boyfriend showed up, apparently annoyed at not knowing where she was, and took her away with him. Yes, maestro, the girl did not tell me that she had a boyfriend. I was more just looking for acceptance from a young lady. But I wondered if she didn’t tell me about her boyfriend because to her the idea of a romance with a man thirty years older than her was something she wanted to pursue. However, I was not surprised that her boyfriend took her away. Such was my world. When there was an opportunity to have a connection with someone, a jealous boyfriend or some such thing would stick its head up like a Kraken.

I called her the next day and she treated me with hostility. I do not know why. He just told me that everything was weird. I do not remember more, and it does not matter. But lookig back it seemed like some kind of conflict within her drove her to contradictory behavior. Like she would have had one opinion, but some spirit moved her to do something else. Like she never would have considered dating a 40 year-old, but some demon wanted her to distract me from Noah. Or she wanted to take an affluent old American, but some angel didn’t want me to forget about Noah. Anyway, the next day she said I was weird. Maestro, I am weird. My life is weird. Everything that has to do with me is weird. Therefore, a person who does not tolerate weird things should not be around me. I didn’t speak to her again. From time to time sent her a message would send her message. She never blocked me, nor called the police. But only once did she answer me. Just to tell me she didn’t want to cause me any trouble. It was an enigmatic statement, but I didn’t press her about it. We never talked on the phone. I stopped sending her messages after that. I haven’t heard from her since.

Regarding my experiences in Mexico before COVID, I want to tell you about an anecdote that I had with a crazy woman in the Parque Revolución. It happened when I lived at the López Cotilla hostel. Since the rooms there were inconceivably small, I usually hung out on the roof. The problem was that sometimes there were too many people there, including the hot paramedics who made me nervous, so I often had to go to a nearby café to have some solitude among crowds of strangers.

I love Parque Revolución. For me it is a symbol of the vitality and energy of Guadalajara. It was always full of smiling friends and lovers. Skateboarders, people with hoolah hoops, artists and clowns. Completely different from the life of seclusion in cars that we have in the United States, and very different also from the life of isolation that I had in Israel.

Sitting at a table in that cafe on the side of the park, I saw the second crazy person I have seen on the streets of a city in my life. The first was a black man in Mannheim, Germany. Several times a week I would take the S-Bahn to go from my home in Mannheim to my school in Heidelberg. Through the train window I could see that guy on the platform talking to the air, rambling incomprensible dialog at nothing. Usually his words didn’t make any sense. Just nonsensical verbiage.

I hadn’t thought about that guy again until here in Mexico when I saw another person like him. This time it was a woman who was also talking nonsense on the street. I started thinking about people who abuse drugs and never return from their trips. I agreed that the sanity I had regained after my stay at the mental institution was a gift from God.

I think I should be dead or at the very least insane in a madhouse, if it weren’t for the fact that God has another purpose for me. I don’t know exactly what purpose he has, but having survived circumstances like mine requires an explanation. There has to be a reason why I’m not in a park talking to the trees about nothing.

The last time I saw that crazy woman, she was walking completely naked. Yes maestro. It was noon in the Parque Revolución. She was going without a shred of clothes on. Hundreds of people were around. Also, she was rather beautiful when naked. She wasn’t ugly clothed, but I suppose her insanity prevented me from contemplating her beauty. But walking through the park completely nude most certainly caused me to contemplate something other than her madness. Yet at the same time, it accentuated it. The whole thing was surreal and weird. But weirder were the reactions of those who saw it. On my part I did nothing because she was a woman and I did not want Harold van Ouwerkerk to spring up from my coffee cup with a baseball bat ready to murder me for talking to a naked woman.

Also, my Spanish was terrible. I had only been in Mexico for a few months. I had just begun to learn the language. But more interesting was the reaction of the others. Half of the people in the park were women. Of course they spoke Spanish. Therefore, at least 50% of the people did not have my reasons for not doing something, for not helping her. But absolutely no one did anything. They just pretended the woman wasn’t there.

There are many messages from God in that event, maestro. I imagine the woman was trying to say something important, and no one was paying attention to her at all. So in the end he decided to take off her clothes. That would certainly get everyone’s attention. It got mine. But even the act of stripping was not enough to make people react to her. This problem is not unique to Mexico or Mexicans. Most of humanity doesn’t want to spend time on anything that’s not stupidly normal. Out of the hundreds of people there, not a soul did anything to help her or acknowledge her in any way.

Meeting that woman made me see how lucky I am, precisely because I am not like her. I understood that after having abused drugs, my sanity was a gift. A miracle. It was very likely that my existence had a purpose after all. But if she couldn’t get a reaction from anyone, what was I to expect? In respects I do resemble that woman. I am a strange type, and nobody wants to acknowledge anything I do or say. I will explain it better below. The title of this e-mail mentions a certain Carolina, and I have to tell you about her. But before that I should probably tell you about a prostitute I met, which was a big part of my experiences in Mexico in early 2020.

As you well know, COVID appeared in March. That same month I moved to my apartment in Zapopan. With my own space, I did something that I had wanted to do since my arrival in Mexico: I called some prostitutes. Yes, maestro, I am a God-fearing man. But I told you a thousand times that I am not a moralist. Also, despite all my adventures with girls and drugs, I never had sex with anyone during the rampages in Scottsdale. In fact, she hadn’t had sex in eight years. I had left my monastic vows, however, and had no obligation to be celibate. I was not young. I was forty-six years old, and frankly, I was curious to know if my dick still worked.

I ultimately wound up going on “dates” four, I think. But I only remember one in great detail. She told me her name was Yamileth, and I only discovered her real name by chance: Mayra Flores. This information will be important later. I’ll remind you of his name later when I tell you another story.

Here I just want to tell you that I learned that I could still function sexually, but I had no interest in sex without love. Under ordinary circumstances, I don’t mess with prostitutes. In fact, I was more interested in Mayra being my friend than giving me a blowjob. Friendship was something I craved. Anyway, when COVID came, she had difficulty working in her profession. She came over and cleaned my house and took care of me when I got sick once. I got sick several times shortly after arriving in Mexico. This often happens with travelers. After everything, I decided to give her twenty thousand pesos so that she would leave her job in Guadalajara and be able to return to his family in Puebla. I think in the end she wanted to be my girlfriend. I actually could have been the boyfriend of a prostitute, or ex-prostitute. I have no problem with my partner having had sex with hundreds of men. I’m more about inner character, and she had a very sweet soul. Also, I can separate the past from the present, and to be frank, I am tolerant of weaknesses of others. Outside of that time of craziness in the infantry in Germany and that short bit after my divorce, I’ve been pretty sexually normative. But I too can be kinky, maestro, so rescuing a prostitute to take on as a lover could even make for some fun stories. However, a life with her was not a desirable thing for me. She was pretty, but I was wary of anchoring my life too soon as some sort of reaction to my traumas. Women are anchors. This isn’t a dig on women. They can anchor you to everything beautiful. Or to everything terrible. But that they are anchors is not a question in dispute.

And there I was, in my apartment in Zapopan, alone, because nobody wanted to do anything in the first days of COVID. After having all the fruits of the Latin world paraded before me, I was again alone. I spent a lot of time alone. I was not a monk, but I didn’t want meaningless sex with escorts. I felt isolated, and again I was stuck without a solution to the Electrochemical Girl problem. I had no idea if there was any future with her, much less a romantic one. It was time to test if I could find a girlfriend in Mexico. I signed up for Tinder.

Maestro, people with psychosis should not go on Tinder. It’s a nightmare. I couldn’t find a rational human being in the whole community. In fact, it sometimes felt like the girls on the app weren’t real. They were behaving like evil artificial intelligences trying to drive me crazy. One of my first poems in Spanish describes this process. This one I wrote in Spanish, so it doesn’t have my usual form.

Calliope
The girl the old man enjoys
Do you want a conversation with me?
It would be like a dinner of strawberries and wheat
Or maybe like a sweet breakfast
If we talk until the imperative morning
Swimming in the rays of dawn

The title of the poem is The Algorithm because I honestly believed that the person I was communicating with, Calliope, was a form of artificial intelligence. It is not possible for someone real to be so confused. And yes, maestro, I know that there is a grammatical error. In the first verse, “enjoy” should be in the indicative instead of the subjunctive. The error is intentional. The word “enjoy” is the reason for the subjunctive. That form of the word is a clue that nothing in the poem is real. The poem describes an interaction with a fantasy that does not happen in reality. That is why I chose the subjunctive. The meaning of the poem is hidden in a grammatical error.

Yes, maestro, I am aware of the irony here. A man has an unbreakable love for a girl he doesn’t know at all except for her songs on Spotify, and at the same time complains that his conversations with girls on Tinder are not real and have no substance. Yes, maestro, I know. It is difficult to understand the situation.

I can only tell you that looking for girls on Tinder was not the solution to my isolation. Rather it was a hellish madness. I was looking for human contact in real life and not in web applications. From this, maestro, from my stories about Calliope and Micaela, you can see that I was a functional person and generally rational and mature, but that I still had traces of madness, psychosis or schizophrenia or at least something very irrational. However, the lessons of my insanity or psychosis were not leading me astray. What Micaela told me was very true. Also, Tinder is not a good place to search for rational women. It really isn’t.

So I stopped using Tinder. Sometimes I called Javier just to do something with someone. And at that time he introduced me to Carolina Navarro. She was another friend of his. A thirty-four-year-old lawyer. She wasn’t ugly, but she was a little fat. However, her weight was not my problem with her, however. In fact, my problem with her is a long story. For now I’ll just tell you that I tried.

Javier, Betty, and Carolina were my only friends at that time. In fact, I just wanted to have friends. I did not understand anything about the matter with the Electrochemical Girl: was any of it real? Was there something romantic?

I began to realize that my life with madness was teaching me moral lessons. At the center of it all was the prospect that I felt like I couldn’t have a normal life without first knowing what the hell was going on with the Electrochemical Girl. Remember, I continued to exchange songs with her, at least that’s how I saw it, for a large part of 2020. And for a lot of that time I felt like there was no way I could have a girlfriend without talking to her first.

Carolina didn’t understand any of this, maestro. And it was not like she tried and failed, or her understanding was clouded by jeaousy. It really just didn’t register with her to pay attention to any of it. It didn’t register with her to pay attention to anything about me at all, really. She wanted to have a gringo boyfriend. Any fucking gringo. Let me tell you. Javier always talked about sex, and Betty desperately wanted wanted a sugar daddy, which is why I spent most of my time with Carolina. I absolutely never expressed an ounce of interest in having sex or any kind of romance with her. At all. I just wanted to hang out, like I am sure a lot of people did during COVID.

As for Carolina, the fact that I spoke to her was enough evidence for her that I wanted to spend the rest of my life at her side, apparently. Carolina was the type of woman who took selfies a thousand times a day and shared only the flattering photos with her friends on social media. I didn’t have many other options to hang out with people. Occasionally she asked me something about my life, but very little, very rarely. From my first contact with her I let her know that I wanted to be an author, that I had dozens of poems and short stories on my blog. She was never interested in reading a single word of my writing. In short, Carolina had no interest in me but rather in what I could be for her. In this respect I think I understand somewhat the dilema of beautiful young women in a world of men who want sex and trophies.

You are probably now confused, teacher, that your student was frustrated with Tinder (where it is impossible to meet a real person), and yet a short time later he was spending all his Carolina, who wanted me without even knowing me. I am aware that in some respect I am like Carolina: just as she did not know me, I also do not know the Electrochemical Girl. However, everything else in comparison is completely opposite. The only thing I have from Noah is her songs. It is as if Carolina had only noticed me for my poems and stories and we had never spent a moment together in person. So the inner soul of Noah is the only thing I do know, presuming I have interpreted her songs correctly. But Carolina and I are very different in another respect. I do care to meet Noah, while she, without having any interest in my heart, had decided that I was her boyfriend because it happened that I was a gringo.

The songs of the Electrochemical Girl were the way our souls communicated telepathically. At least that’s how it seemed to me at that time. Another thing I need to clarify is that I did not specifically choose the Electrochemical Girl as a lover, niece or friend. From her songs and from having seen her in the eyes of the paramedic on the way to the hospital, I think I know something about her heart and that all I know, if I know anything.

I hope you understand the difference, maestro. It was another lesson from God. People don’t know anything about their fellow man. And Carolina was a typical person with a very strong will who simply wanted a boyfriend, period. She didn’t really need to know who her boyfriend was. It was like the vast majority of humanity, they simply inhabit the world without knowing anything about anything. For me this condition is disgusting.

But hey, now I want to tell you another of my schizophrenia stories, this time related to Carolina. It was June 2020, COVID had arrived in Guadalajara three months before. Mexicans had started to flaunt the hysteria and rules somewhat. Life by no means got back to normal, but at least it started back up in some way. I decided to take a vacation with Carolina to visit Ciudad Guzmán, where she had a law firm and an apartment. Also, I do not know if by Telegram or WhatsApp, but my friend George met a friend of Carolina, Azucena. She also lived in Guzmán, and George had an interest in the region. I was also excited about the idea of ​​exploring the place and leaving Guadalajara for the first time.

I rented a car and booked a room in Ciudad Guzmán for myself. Maestro, could it be more obvious that I was not going to Guzmán as her boyfriend? A HOTEL FOR ONE. WITHOUT THE GIRL. Unfortunately, Carolina wanted a gringo boyfriend and her will was strong. In addition, I explained to her very explicitly that I wanted to meet friends and spend time in groups, and that the trip was not exactly to have a romantic getaway alone with her. I’m not lying, Vidal, I told her those things in very plain words. But it was like talking to a wall.

I rented a car and Carolina set aside days to accompany me through the beautiful Jalisco countryside and its picturesque towns like Tapalpa, Sayula and Mazamitla. Almost everything was closed due to the “plandemic.” As you can see, Carolina totally ignored my demands and I wound up driving alone with her through the countryside. In fact, I later learned that Azucena had asked her why we didn’t spend more time her and all their friends in the city, and apparently Carolina replied that she just wanted to be alone with me. It was as if I didn’t exist at all.

Frankly I was getting sick of the bitch. It was like she was some kind of psychological vampire intending to enslave me to her will. Obviously, violence was the only way left for me to make her understand. And I did it! I don’t remember much of the incident, but there are photos. There was also a message from Satan.

Let me explain. After a lot of complaints from me, Carolina finally took me to a restaurant where Azucena and some mutual friends were together. Among them was a guy named Eddy, an interesting character, about 25 years old. We started drinking a lot of tequila, maestro. A LOT! And this Eddy insisted on presenting himself as some kind of “bad boy.” You can imagine the scene, maestro. The unfortunate product of a subculture that admires El Chapo too much. He wanted to convince me that he could get me girls, drugs, friends…well, whatever I wanted. Almost like in the hotel with Chaz. “I can get you whatever you want.”

He gave me the feeling that his manners and words surpassed those of any bad boy. He said, “I can give you anything you want.” He even pointed to a waitress, a very beautiful girl by Mexican standards, which are very high. Stunning. She had tits like melons and her make-up adn dress were that of a middle-eastern dancer from Arabian Nights. Or maybe it would be better to described her as pharaoh’s favorite. Needless to say, she was a splendid waitress. He pointed to her just as she was standing next to me serving me my drink.

 “Do you want her?” Eddy asked.

I answered “no”, to which the waitress reacted with a look of surprise.

Next, Eddy pointed to Carolina, who was next to me: “Do you want her her?”

“Definitely not,” was my reply. And everyone at the table laughed. I hope the message got to Carolina.

Maestro, how could Eddy brag about offering me a waitress who looked like a runway model, or even tell me he could “get me” my own friend? To me he was more than a bragging bad boy. To be honest, it seemed to me as if a demon was offering me its temptations. Yes, master, six months after my last crystal inhalation I was accompanied by a marked Manichean tendency. The spirit that turned Chaz from a former sandwich shop owner turned drug dealer was now turning Eddy into a tempter as well.

Then he said, “Well, what do you want?”, as if I could tell him I wanted a multiplatinum best selling album, and he would get it for me, if only I signed my name in blood.

In that strange situation, in that bizarre state of mind, I merely I replied that I wanted cigarettes.

In fact, maestro, my time in Mexico was convincing me that I didn’t want anything in particular from the world. Even though Mexico was a paradise for me, obviously it really wasn’t. Several times, while I was enjoying my luxurious lunch in an exquisite restaurant,, an emaciated child would run up to me me to beg me to give him a peso or to offer me a marzipan for five pesos. A chocha or a deck chair on a beautiful beach does not make a paradise, master. You already know, a true paradise has to be for everyone. I can’t feel fulfiled with some basic pleasure while others are dying in the streets. And the scene with Eddy was making me anxious. So a simple answer like cigars was my escape route.

True to his word, Eddy offered to take me to an Oxxo. I didn’t even have to sell my soul.

On the way he wanted to introduce me to some of his friends. They worked in a mechanics workshop. I do not remember exactly the type. But everything indicated that having a gringo as a friend was very interesting for the residents of Guzmán. Or maybe Eddy just had typical Mexican hospitality. I do not know. I was drunk and it seemed like a good idea to meet friends. The two guys were very friendly and offered me their tequila. Maestro, I have the talent to be able to drink tequila like water. I taste all the sugars and accents of the agave without being particularly bothered by the burn. This does not mean that that I am immune to the effects, however

With a smile and a wink I took the bottle of tequila and proceeded to drink half of its contents. I guess that while Eddy was showing me off, I was showing myself off as well. I returned it with a “thank you.” I do think they were impressed. Then Eddy and I went to the Oxxo for smokes. We returned to the restaurant with Azucena, Carolina and the others, I went directly to my chair, sat down and immediately lost consciousness.

I don’t remember anything from that point on. But there is a video in which I appear passed out on the table next to Carolina, who was sitting next to me like a dutiful wife, holding my hand. Yes, maestro, half an hour before Eddy asked me if I wanted to fuck Carolina, and I said “definitely not.” In front of everyone. She should have been livid. She should have been making out with my friends to get revenge. But she was sitting there holding the hand of an unconscous man trying to pwn off that I was with her. She was taking advantage of the situation to make others see that she was the ideal girl for me. It’s fucking crazy, right? Who is crazier, Vidal? The guy who talks to demons and angels during his schizophrenic episodes? Or the girl who takes the hand of an unconscious teporocho to pretend to be his girlfriend?

And like I told you, I don’t remember anything at this point, but according to Carolina, she tried to wake me up to say goodbye. They tell me that with a lurch I raised my hand to say goodbye and accidentally hit her in the mouth. George told me later that everyone realized it was an accident, but I think a part of me was getting some revenge against her. I have no certainty about anything that happened. They tell me Eddy took me to my hotel.

The next morning I told George everything that had happened between Carolina and me. Then George spoke with Azucena and then he called me again saying: “Jonathan, just go to Guadalajara. Now. Alone. Carolina will never grieve you again.” I was ecstatic. I felt like a child who had been saved by his older brother from the torment of bullies. Thank God I will never see Carolina again or hear from her. It was like being pulled out of a bear trap. That’s how intense the desire of “Mexico” was to lock me down.

Maestro, this is the end of the story of my first months in Mexico. I still have to tell you some more things that happened to me, but for now you know what my first experiences were in Mexico and what my mental state was in 2020.

In short, I came to Mexico with many insecurities, I did not have confidence in myself. I couldn’t interpret my experiences with Chaz, Haley, and Melinda; And no van Ouwerkerk ever explained to me what the fuck happened with the Electrochemical Girl.

I was functional as a normal adult human, but I still had anxiety and occasional schizophrenic episodes with angels and demons; some that I found illustrative and beneficial. They weren’t just mindless hallucinations. In short, I was not hallucinating with pink elephants or naked girls, but with good and bad spirits who brought me messages and lessons relevant to my life. And the lesson was that Mexico would give me absolutely anything, and spare no expense in trapping me.

Mexico presented itself to me as a bitter paradise. Here I had more money and was treated by everyone like a king, but in any case I suffered with the pain of the homeless that I saw on the streets. More important and significant still, from the encounters with Carolina —after my experience in Israel— my life in Mexico seduced me like a temptation, like a trap. One in the form of a woman with a will of steel.

This last point is not just a thing about women. It is true, I am a man and therefore women are important people in my life; but it is not the only thing. Life is like a mighty river, with many currents that are difficult to navigate to get where you really want to go, and very difficult to to resist.

I didn’t know if I was floating in the right direction. Everything was like a false paradise full of various temptations, islands with strong-willed harpies that wanted to keep me captive in complacency. The goal seemed to be to deprive me of the memory of the inconceivable things that Israel, the Electrochemical Girl, and the methamphetamines had brought to my attention.

I felt uncomfortable. And with that I end this hulking e-mail. I always promise you that I will write shorter emails. I hope the next ones are not like this. The ones coming will have disappointment and sadness, but they think I should be able to make them shorter. The end, I hope, will come on a note of hope and wisdom.

See you later, Vidal.

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