The marvelous feeling of hating someone on a small island

What if I accidentally take the same train as someone from my past? Someone that I don’t like anymore? Wait, I’m trying to sound normal. What if there is someone I hate? Because yes, the hate I have towards some people is beyond any poetry solutions I find to face life. And yes, anger is the fuel I feel towards one or 47 of the people I like to pretend are insignificant to the course of planet earth. At this point, you know I’m not scared of sounding like a motherfucker. I share my real and raw experiences with you, and they’re not always beautiful. Today, I’m going to talk about the days I can’t let go of negative thoughts. It gives me the chills when I remember that even though I cut people from my circle, they are still living in the same city as me. A city that feels tiny and tight. An island surrounded by unpleasant meetings. How many ‘you-gotta-be-kidding’ moments do you need to build a city where everyone keeps their eyes away from familiar faces? Do any other immigrants feel like that? Let's get a drink. Here’s the truth, more often than I wish, I hope they will soon leave New York and never come back. As long as this whole teenage-type-of-hate gives me good laughs over the bar table, though, I’m not letting go of these primitive feelings. I do laugh about how much I hate some people with the people I love. There is so much written about unconditional love, forgiveness, good vibes, incense, meditation, positive thoughts… but we need to talk about the pleasure of letting a few drips of childish poison out of our tongues. Not that they are right. But they exist. It’s impossible for me to imagine someone whose mind is not sometimes welcoming this type of feeling. I wonder if other immigrant communities have as much drama and as many fights as Brazilians have. You won’t believe the number of stories I have heard and how they are always so weirdly connected. You’re only one (drama or) person away from another brawl. It’s a whole family tree of misunderstandings, ex-partners, ruined parties, ruined jobs, and ruined friendships. The main reason, at least my main reason, is because of how needy we are for connection. In the past, I saw myself being friends with people I would never be friends with back in my town. We had nothing in common, we barely shared laughs, yet we were always there trying to find (or make) a strong bond. It took me a while to find my place and my heart in the community. Lots of tears, disappointments, and fear. Fear of solitude, fear of not being able to have freedom to be who I am. But finally, after 6 years, I understand who my family is here. And I’m incredibly lucky. Here I am feeling like I own this one wagon I choose every day to go to work, wishing I will never cross paths with them. Random fact that I want to share: in this wagon there’s always the same posters, one of them is “smelling the wind” a poem by Audre Lorde, who by the way I have only got to know better because of the many times I read it while turning my neck. There you go, I found a reason to connect the fact with what I’m saying: sometimes we do have to turn our necks away to figure out new possibilities of expression in other people. I question myself if I’m evil or why the fuck I have this type of thoughts as randomly as standing in line to get coffee. My coffee, from my coffee shop, my block, my neighborhood. What type of complex is this? What type of childhood trauma makes me think that mentally marking territory is going to push the most terrible coincidences away? I guess somehow, I’m still hurt. It’s ok. I’m now googling a way to own a train wagon. I’ll be fine.