An open letter to an old ‘friend’

Dear guy I roomed with for 5 months on exchange in Canada,

Hey dude! How the hell are ya? It’s been way too long between drinks, especially considering we never really drank together at all when we lived under the same roof in Canada and that was three years ago now!

How’s life in England? (How about them Olympics hey, wowser, talk about an international sporting event!) Even though I have maintained absolutely zero contact with you since Canada I am almost certain that you are still in England and have not re-located elsewhere. I base this on your flagrant and outright aversion to every aspect of your stint living abroad in Canada, with the burning, constant regret you felt everyday about going on exchange as apparent and odious to me as your post-curry excretions (what was up with your penchant for curry 4-5 times a week by the way?)

You know I always wondered WHY exactly you committed to 5 months in a distant foreign land, despite must of having at least the smallest inkling that a quiet, introverted, gaming enthusiast like yourself may not exactly flourish on international student exchange. I eventually assumed you left your stately manor in Upper Chestingtoncester-Upon-Glade where you no doubt spent your affluent childhood because your parents must have forced you against your own wishes and against your strongly held fear for the outside world and disdain for the unwholesome commoners that inhabited it. Oh that first moment when you realised you were rooming with a 19 year old middle-class Australian recently out of puberty must have been fun for you!

You may have noticed by this far into my letter the fact that I have not once referred to you by name. This is due to the unfortunate state where in the past three years your existence in my memory has dribbled down to such a minor extent I have entirely forgotten your name. I do know I did what is common with us uncouth convicts and gave you a nickname you hated, which was no doubt your actual name shortened and suffixed instead with ‘y’ or ‘azza’. I think perhaps your name is James and I would refer to you as Jimmy, or Daniel and I called you Dazza or maybe Rutherford and I called you Rusty. I hope it was that last one, although I think if I had imbued you with such a killer nickname as Rusty I wouldn’t be having this issue re-calling it.

Anyway Rusty, it’s a shame we lost contact. It’s a shame we never really got along.  It’s a shame you even came to Canada and it’s a horrible shame you were paired with me in 34B Frontenac House. Now I’m not trying to be cruel here Jimbo I mean looking back now, it did kinda suck for the both of us. Our personalities and lifestyles never really clicked and a mid-semester room swap was never going to happen what with you being too proper to initiate and me not really giving that much of a fuck as long as you continued to keep to your bedroom and not complain when you would have to roll over my naked unconscious body on the kitchen floor in order to open the fridge in the morning (read: most mornings).

So listen Dazzdogs I’d like to take this opportunity to make some formal apologies. I’m sorry about the constant room parties. I’m sorry about the relentless security and campus police visits. I’m sorry about the hot-box in our bathroom that set off the fire alarm in our building at 3am on a Tuesday. I’m sorry about that time I thought your bedroom was mine and proceeded to vomit on your laptop bag and attempt to spoon you. I’m sorry about making you pull out the skin staples on my not-nearly-healed enough head wound with a fork because “the medical building was like, on the other side of campus”.

But you know Rusto, you really could have dug down, found some hidden reserves of this thing called ‘fun’ and gainfully joined in on all these activities instead of sitting on the sideline and silently growing resentful towards me (except the spooning incident I’m glad you didn’t ‘get involved’ in that situation). Going on semester exchange isn’t about experiencing new culture and growing as an intelligent individual in a global world or any of that bullshit. It’s about getting super tanked on beers with funny names (hahaha Kokanee), experiencing as many new foreign genitals as possible and attending exactly the bare minimum amount of classes to avoid failure (‘attending’ and ‘being unconscious in’ are interchangeable here).

If you remember Gazzatron, I did attempt to take you out a couple of times in the first few weeks with the other international kids and you sat on the side, quietly sipping your single beer before disappearing home sometime between me doing a body shot off that chubby Irish girl and getting kicked out for demanding the bartender say ‘about’ over and over. So don’t say I didn’t try to get you instigated into the world of debauchery and complete lack of academic awareness that is the fundamental ideology of international exchange.

Anyway old mate, we’ll let the past be the past. I hope these three years have found you personal growth, new wisdom or at the very least that 100% completion on Batman: Arkham Asylum you so desperately pursued whilst we lived together on college campus in a new and exciting country during the prime of our youth. I also hope you haven’t been carving my likeness into little wooden dolls and torturing/burning them whilst thinking of increasingly painful ways to reap your overdue revenge.

And seriously dude, pull back on the curry dinners.


Your ex-roommate/arch-nemesis,


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