MacBooks,

The day after I criticized my MacBook and its cool,cold body shaped for the future, the nostalgia of our shared past caught up with me.

Organic tea! Ô you organic tea! Why did you have to drown my friend with your flavor of licorice and Ulmus Rubra? Why did you infiltrate the unibody of my companion born from technology.

I indeed didn’t really enjoy, writing a book on a MacBook, I think the experience would have been better on type writer. I still do, and you should do it to. But more than a tool to write, that computer is (was? Oh gosh no…) a part of my life.

All things considered, my secondhand MacBook still named “MacBook d’Adrien” (Adrian’s MacBook) is the only thing I’ve carried throughout my odyssey, and it’s a weird thing to say.

I bought it on a soon-to come spring morning listening to R.E.M – Everybody Hurts why at this moment, I don’t know but this track was amazing. I obtained this MacBook at the the Plan Your Escape Part. III of my life. I had promise my mum that I’d finish school before going to England, but the amount of work needed to get ready for my dream quickly overtook my scholastic pursuit. And to be honest it was flat boring. So just like that, I decided to devote myself to music and that I’d learn all the tips and tricks. Getting a MacBook was a huge step forward for me, for I could record my song, finally. I recorded some cheap demo, singing directly to my computer speakers without micro, phone. That MacBook was (is? Oh my gosh…) my comrade, and was as exited as I was. Together we learned failure, triumph, and glory, hour after after hours we were learning, on the lonely nights on  him I was leaning.

He is the only on I bought to England, the only one bold enough to come in a foreign land.

I often think about Ringo Starr‘s quote when he said that he 

“always felt sad for Elvis because, whenever something good happened in the studio he was the only one there, while the Beatles could share their victories together.”

And I felt the same way, of course I felt the same way. I’ll never forget, the first time I finished a song that (I found) was ready to go on the Internet, I stood up triumphant and I was the only one in the room. I remember that it cooled me off,

The saddest thing is not to lose alone, because you always lose alone, but to win alone.

But wait I wasn’t alone, my friend was there. And he was there when I crossed the sea, when I wrote a book in three day after I quit my job at Chipotle, shivering in this wrinkled house. He was there when they kicked me out with no reason (but manners and in a sensitive way, clowns) and that I found a flat in one day to follow my dreams. He was there when I gathered months after month the equipment to record, mix and produce my first song. He ate with me all the information I bolted down to be ready for the future. He witnessed my improvements, dancing alone in that tiny cube that this well mannered and sensitive well off gentlemen call “a room”. He was there, when I became a man, he was there when I became me, he was there when I transformed, he was there to keep me company.

A few weeks back Agnès discovered that Gaia her cat became blind. He was very sad and wanted to know why for Gaia was an old cat. Gaia accompanied Agnès throughout her trials, ALL THIS TIME. People couldn’t understand how she could be so attached to”a cat”. Me neither I couldn’t totally relate, not because I didn’t empathize but because I made a covenant with myself that commanded me to always keep moving. I was sad for her though. And now, it’s me who feel a bit the same way. Of course I don’t imply that it is the same thing, losing a living creature is way more painful, besides it cannot be replace. Maybe tomorrow I’ll go to the Apple Store and in one week it be fixed, up and running like a MacBook curbs. And What I felt cannot even be considered as painful it’s more about became aware of that I was growing attached to a non human thing how depressing.

Yes it’s all about that, after writing that I look to the my right, invaded percussive sounds and frequencies coming from by the loud speakers of my housemate banging Justin Bieber -Sorry and I thought,

How desperate and lonely should I be to mourn the death of an object.

Ultimately it’s just an object.

My friends brought me some cookies and brownies, although none of them brought some paper and a pen, to express my pain.
Thank you.

PB

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