 |
| melissajoykong.tumblr.com |
I had not seen your face nor heard your name in months of Sundays. Neither had I kept tabs on how you’ve been doing ever since the last time you slid into my DMs on Facebook and we had that last row, shouting at and grabbing each other by the hair figuratively.
Until a while ago, when I saw a friend’s photo with you on Instagram during my nightly pre-bedtime browsing routine. It opened floodgates of emotions. I got blindsided, like a deer in headlights—frozen.
The most adult-y move to make at a situation of such sort is maybe, keep scrolling past it or put my phone down and stay off it in case I did something imbecilic impulsively. Rather, my dumbass fervently tapped on said photo and clicked on your profile within .5 seconds. (I hate myself.)
There comes one of the ugliest downsides of strolling down memory lane. Every thought about the lovely moments we shared will summon up the awful. (The other being: impossibility to go back and relive them once more.)
You are one of the parties, after myself, I hold responsible for that entire ordeal. You are among a bunch of people who made my last year in high school a living hell for me.
In retrospect, I could have handled it better, and not gotten carried away. Never been the type to lash out on others, let alone it taking place online or in public. Not that I address the issues in private, I would just hold it in without telling anyone how I feel.
But there are times where the voices in my head yell at me for not speaking up, for not standing up for myself. For not saying F you aloud to those who wronged me, to friends who stabbed me in the back. That was one of those times.
I was lacking the mental capacity to put on a mask and respond to you nicely. Because not all’s well and not everyone’s moved on. I legit had a nightmare about being bullied by our teacher that felt so real I was on the brink of tears when I woke. I still have the trauma you know nothing about from being bullied into fearing going to school.
And so, concerning your sporadic plaintive vaguebooking on social media- Gosh! Cut that out. For the love of God, they could have people mispicturing our friendship as coming straight out of Morgan Matson’s Since You’ve Been Gone.
Let’s get this straight, telling it like it is. We had very normal tiff over final art class group project and barely talked for like a week and a half. Then I got in trouble for misbehaving, in which you started inserting yourself forthwith, making petty insinuations and even casting aspersions on me out of spite.
(To make it clear, I cheated on my tests using my phone, got caught, and my teachers basically thought the best punishment for me was a never-ending public shaming.)
Never forget the answer you gave my mom when she unsolicitedly yet justifiably confronted you via text, after which you sneak dissed us both on your tweets. Not to mention the utterly revolting self-righteous remarks you said to your friends in regard to our fall-out.
It was you who ditched me. You can’t ask why I don’t visit, if you burned the bridge.
“Being thankful for what we have and forgiving those who had hurt us—are the keys to happiness,” was the closing statement for today’s episode of some motivational talkshow I saw this morning, which got me ruminating about it for a good couple of minutes.
I have always been so grateful for countless blessings bestowed on me. On the flip side, I cannot say that I’ve made an effort to do the latter. The phrase “forgive but not forget” feels a little off to me, as it should go mutually exclusive: we cannot forgive if we do not forget. I’m not gonna say I bury the hatchet, all the while sharpening a new one behind my back.
Until a while ago, when I saw a friend’s photo with you on Instagram during my nightly pre-bedtime browsing routine. It opened floodgates of emotions. I got blindsided, like a deer in headlights—frozen.
The most adult-y move to make at a situation of such sort is maybe, keep scrolling past it or put my phone down and stay off it in case I did something imbecilic impulsively. Rather, my dumbass fervently tapped on said photo and clicked on your profile within .5 seconds. (I hate myself.)
Going through your feed, I found out you still look the way you did three years ago, reminds me of how you used to pride yourself on having youthful looks in spite of your factual age—as opposed to mine.
Then I hovered over posts with these unfamiliar faces who seem to be colleagues. They rang a bell, and sparked off this odd, inscrutable wistfulness. As much as I hate giving it away, I am still holding on to fond memories of our time together, before things went south and fell apart in a screeching halt.
Long gone are those days. Hanging out in school festivals, eating ice creams after long restless walks, or wandering about your neighborhood and being engrossed in deep talks. Our excursions, our days out.
Then I hovered over posts with these unfamiliar faces who seem to be colleagues. They rang a bell, and sparked off this odd, inscrutable wistfulness. As much as I hate giving it away, I am still holding on to fond memories of our time together, before things went south and fell apart in a screeching halt.
Long gone are those days. Hanging out in school festivals, eating ice creams after long restless walks, or wandering about your neighborhood and being engrossed in deep talks. Our excursions, our days out.
There comes one of the ugliest downsides of strolling down memory lane. Every thought about the lovely moments we shared will summon up the awful. (The other being: impossibility to go back and relive them once more.)
You are one of the parties, after myself, I hold responsible for that entire ordeal. You are among a bunch of people who made my last year in high school a living hell for me.
In retrospect, I could have handled it better, and not gotten carried away. Never been the type to lash out on others, let alone it taking place online or in public. Not that I address the issues in private, I would just hold it in without telling anyone how I feel.
But there are times where the voices in my head yell at me for not speaking up, for not standing up for myself. For not saying F you aloud to those who wronged me, to friends who stabbed me in the back. That was one of those times.
I was lacking the mental capacity to put on a mask and respond to you nicely. Because not all’s well and not everyone’s moved on. I legit had a nightmare about being bullied by our teacher that felt so real I was on the brink of tears when I woke. I still have the trauma you know nothing about from being bullied into fearing going to school.
And so, concerning your sporadic plaintive vaguebooking on social media- Gosh! Cut that out. For the love of God, they could have people mispicturing our friendship as coming straight out of Morgan Matson’s Since You’ve Been Gone.
Let’s get this straight, telling it like it is. We had very normal tiff over final art class group project and barely talked for like a week and a half. Then I got in trouble for misbehaving, in which you started inserting yourself forthwith, making petty insinuations and even casting aspersions on me out of spite.
(To make it clear, I cheated on my tests using my phone, got caught, and my teachers basically thought the best punishment for me was a never-ending public shaming.)
Never forget the answer you gave my mom when she unsolicitedly yet justifiably confronted you via text, after which you sneak dissed us both on your tweets. Not to mention the utterly revolting self-righteous remarks you said to your friends in regard to our fall-out.
It was you who ditched me. You can’t ask why I don’t visit, if you burned the bridge.
“Being thankful for what we have and forgiving those who had hurt us—are the keys to happiness,” was the closing statement for today’s episode of some motivational talkshow I saw this morning, which got me ruminating about it for a good couple of minutes.
Talking about burying hatchets and mending fences, judging from the DMs and emails you kept sending on my birthdays, you appeared to think that I have put the whole predicament behind me and been cool about the idea of a reconciliation. I’ve tried to make peace with the past, true, but if I ever want anything from you, it is to not come sliding into my life ever again.
Bold of you to assume I’d give a failed relationship another shot—at the expense of my new-found happiness and inner peace. You have shattered my trust and genuine love for a best friend, stomped on the shards, then burned them in my face.
Even when you came around saying everything was caused by peer pressure and you never meant to throw me under the bus, I still could not give you back the trust I once did.
About those birthday wishes you sent me, though. They are not completely unavailing. They showed me that you still care (truth be told, it does make me feel special to have my birthday stamped on someone else’s memory), and that you’ve got the guts to try and be the bigger person by holding out that olive branch first.Bold of you to assume I’d give a failed relationship another shot—at the expense of my new-found happiness and inner peace. You have shattered my trust and genuine love for a best friend, stomped on the shards, then burned them in my face.
Even when you came around saying everything was caused by peer pressure and you never meant to throw me under the bus, I still could not give you back the trust I once did.
I am sorry for blowing up and lashing out at you the first time we got back in touch (and other times I ever hurt your feelings during the course of our friendship). A wave of micro emotions washed over me and the next thing I know, wrathful words began pouring out of my chest like they wouldn’t stop. It took away the chip on my shoulder, it felt liberating.
Concisely, what I aim by typing this at fluffing 12 o’clock at night is that, I want to unchain myself. I want to free myself. Free myself from the burden that is my own bitterness. I am willing to wipe the slate clean, forget our problems and start afresh.
We can never change the fact that you were one puzzle piece that completed my high school life anyway. We don’t know when that someday is as we run into each other again by chance, and if I will stare into void like I never meet you or casually greet you like an old friend. That’s never out of question.
But now, first things first, I’m letting bygones be bygones. I’m letting this tightness in my chest loose.
You will find that it is necessary to let things go; simply for the reason that they are heavy. So let them go, let go of them. I tie no weights to my ankles.
PS In case anyone ever happens to read this whole essay, I want to clarify a few things. First, I am not upset because I got caught. I deserved being punished for what I did, but not in the way that I was. And I am not mad at the person for turning me in, she did not turn me in. (Like I said, I got caught first.) I was disappointed in her for snitching on me after, adding fuel to the fire. I am grossed out she cut me off, writing snide comments online and spread word about me to our friends when I was at my lowest, only to pathetically fish for my attention months later.
