We first met - the chief editor and contributor of Wikipedia in ****** ******* - almost exactly a year ago. He just had a suicidal attempt: jumping from the fourth floor of a building. Rookie’s mistake, or an act of desperation - my guess would be the latter.
Immediately his sheer blondness irked me. The kids would tease him verbally and he would invariably react and voice his annoyance that predictably led to more teasing. He had his daily routine that absolutely could not be disturbed - or it would mean the end of the fucking world. He was recovering from the resulting leg injury of the failed attempt on his own life and was limping about with crutches. At first I just placed myself next to him at meal time and observed him while we ate in silence. My presence left him feeling both confused and uneasy but there was simply nothing anyone could do about it. He was so blond, so pale. His eyes light blue and his mannerism feline. Later I asked if I could touch his hair. It was so fine and soft - almost transparent under the sun. It reminded me of optical fibers, or the fur of polar bears. We developed an unusual friendship where I would steal his crutches and stroll around the grassy field with them as he was left immobile, speechless, embarrassed, but smiling. We spoke about Wikipedia, WikiLeaks, and Amnesty International. He was reading some scientific publication on some rock and river formation.
A year later, today, I’m not sure if he recalls any of that. I’m not sure if he still keeps that drawing of a dragon that I’d gifted him, but I’m almost certain he would not admit that I’d beat him in chess. He hasn’t changed: he still reads five or six different newspapers everyday, devouring information as if it were his major source of energy. It’s only May but he already looks sunburnt. He still feels the urge to emphasize his homosexuality around me - he can’t seem to comprehend the fact that he is too blond and too young for me anyways. He still does stuff for Wikipedia - in fact it is the only thing he does: huddled in a quiet corner, with his computer connected to the Internet, distributing knowledge one click at a time. I’d ask about his plans for the future, which he didn’t seem to have any. I hope he is satisfied, or at least fulfilled, doing whatever he thinks is his obligation or responsibility. I find his blondness as fascinating as ever, but none of this makes sense and I don’t understand anything anymore.
