The Orange Hat

I only drink Coffee when necessary, such as a socially pressured moment, at an Italian restaurant in Nairobi after three to four glasses of wine and an amazing day in Kenya.

I only cry when I need to, like when I watch a movie about a group of friends celebrating life in their own way, and I remember all the people I haven’t seen in six months- and some who I won’t see in even longer- and the time I’ve missed being with all of you, your smiles, your hugs, your gratuitous offers of alcohol, the hard slaps to the face, the long quiet moment we have where nothing needs to be said because were so comfortable with each other that if anybody else was there they would call it an “awkward silence,” but of course we know better, the long talks we have over simple nothings or complex everything’s where I learn more than I ever could in any class, the truths you tell me that you wouldn’t dare speak to your parents, the long bike rides, the short chats, the revolutions we planed, the nightly excursions we had, the kisses that were sniped, the caves that we explored, the meals you cooked, the fights we had. I miss it all.

Thomas leaves tomorrow, just like Henry left the night before, and Florent leaves the following Saturday and Bart will follow in suit. I don’t know when I’ll see them again. I met them for such a short time, and reshaped my life with them in it- Just like I’ll have to do all over again when they leave and other come. But damn it was fun.

Thank you Thomas for bringing us together, the group that is made almost entirely of Dutchmen, with the two Germans and two Americans thrown in. It was a magnificent meal, our last meal for a while, and if anything; epicurean. We talked about dead baby jokes, about my brother who hops trains, about how one twenty year old I met today has done more in the past five years than I might ever- and how I see it as a challenge, about Harvard, about Germany, about life. We then had espresso and I went insane and danced like a mad man, then stayed up till 6am watching Charlotte, Kerry, Miranda, and Samantha in their everlasting man troubles critiquing every dress I saw and wondering why anyone would want a Louis Vuitton purse in such an ugly tan- seriously, the shoes were amazing, the dresses were a complex mixture of Havana beach wear, nuevo sixties “Jackiesk” pregnancy garments, Wedding dresses from heaven and Spain, men suits straight from Black and Decker (they were black and he was going to deck her), and a short from 80’s hell – and even they Café attire was quite vogue, but that purse she gave to Miss St. Louis – WTF.

Conor, I don’t know what to say, you scared the shit out of Mom with probably no knowledge of it and I don’t really thing I can blame you for any of it- you make your own choices, you aren’t really dependent on anyone monetarily, and from what I can tell you seems to be surviving just fine- I love you and I care about you: see you when I see you