I JUST READ MY CHAT WITH AN OLD FRIEND
I just read my chat with an old friend. I should text her, but I can't. So I'll just write instead.
She was my very good friend. I met her when she was a young teenager - a stage where she was growing and had her emotions at the peak. She was very vulnerable and innocent that she could never hide how she felt. She was so real and expressive. She was a writer too and I felt she was better than me because when I was just learning to write beyond words that people just liked to read but words that touched their souls, she was already writing words that hit deeper than a bullet shot at close range. She hardly writes now though, or maybe she does but never posts. Or maybe she posts but I just never see.
The first time that I met her, it was through a mutual friend. Even though she had feelings for me then, it was our mutual friend that I liked in that manner. We all were mature about it though, cos instead of us to act like the average teenagers would and complicate everything, we found a way to deal with it all. Or maybe we weren't that mature. Maybe it wasn't an important problem because she had a bigger problem to face at the time. And as a friend, I needed to be there for her. I needed to assure her that it was all going to be alright - and I did exactly that.
Her problem took her away from me and her other friends for about 10 months. And when she came around again, it felt very nice to have my friend back - to feel her around me and to be buried in her writings whenever I read them. It was pleasing to hear the beautiful noise she made when she laughed. And more importantly, to see that everything had become alright and that her problem was solved already... Well, I prophesized it.
But... What happened?
What happened to us along the line, I really don't know. But I guess it was growth that took us away from each other. Or maybe it was just other problems, I can't say.
But before the drift, we were doing good as friends that I thought she was going to be around for a long time. I thought I was always going to send my first drafts to her to ask for her opinions, I thought I was going to be there to always assure her that it was going to be fine if the need to do that ever came again. Or that she would at least be able to assure me that everything would be alright if it ever became my turn to have one of those big problems. But no, she never returned that favour.
She was not my best friend and I was never hers, not even for a day. But there was something special. Something beyond what you're thinking of right now as you read this. Something just both of us could understand. Something that made me read the real meanings to the words she said. Something that made me see the real emotions in her eyes and hear them in her voice even when she tried to hide it all. That was how deep it was. That was how much I liked her... and maybe how much she liked me too.
But I wasn't really smart. I wasn't smart enough to notice when we were drifting apart. I didn't know that I was losing the power to read her thoughts, to understand her feelings and to connect with her.
When I noticed was when the table turned to the other side and she liked my friend. He liked her back, and I was kind of happy for them. But like a cheap Chinese product, their feelings didn't last. We all blamed her. We thought she just used him to feel good about herself or to cure boredom. Probably both. Probably neither, I don't know.
After their own story, we got more distant. She liked another person that I knew very well, and even though this time was unlike the last time, it ended too (well, don't they all end?). But at least, that lasted for a relatively longer time.
In the middle of all of the feelings and the stories, a lot happened. She stopped writing, or maybe I just stopped seeing them. Our circle broke, and none of us was interested in fixing things. We grew, and all of those time with one another felt like they never mattered. We became very ordinary persons to each other. She became to me, "I used to know her", and I became to her, an old friend.
Today, I read our chat from thirteen months ago. That one hour chat on WhatsApp was how it used to be 4-5 years ago, just that the chat had a bit of awkwardness.
We connected once more, but not like the vulnerable young adults that we were, because this time, we were careful. We had shields all over our words before we spoke them, and it was obvious we had things we wanted to say but we didn't know how to say them like we meant them.
Now, I'm here writing about her when I could just be texting her. I'm here thinking about her when I could just be feeling her.
I don't know if I miss her, because sincerely, weeks go by that I wouldn't even remember her name not to talk of think about her.
I don't know if she wants to talk to me or if she shares these memories, because I'm probably the only one reminiscing. Maybe I miss her, maybe I don't. Maybe she still remembers any of this or maybe our friendship never even felt like a big deal to her, I don't know.
But I know that I crave that she was here to return the favour I did for her - to tell me that one year is not a long time to wait for. To tell me that everything is going to be fine. To send me long paragraphs just to tell me that she cares about me...
But...
You know what? I don't think any of these matter. She's probably even forgotten everything.
But it's okay. The memories are enough for me.
And my pen is too.
She was my very good friend. I met her when she was a young teenager - a stage where she was growing and had her emotions at the peak. She was very vulnerable and innocent that she could never hide how she felt. She was so real and expressive. She was a writer too and I felt she was better than me because when I was just learning to write beyond words that people just liked to read but words that touched their souls, she was already writing words that hit deeper than a bullet shot at close range. She hardly writes now though, or maybe she does but never posts. Or maybe she posts but I just never see.
The first time that I met her, it was through a mutual friend. Even though she had feelings for me then, it was our mutual friend that I liked in that manner. We all were mature about it though, cos instead of us to act like the average teenagers would and complicate everything, we found a way to deal with it all. Or maybe we weren't that mature. Maybe it wasn't an important problem because she had a bigger problem to face at the time. And as a friend, I needed to be there for her. I needed to assure her that it was all going to be alright - and I did exactly that.
Her problem took her away from me and her other friends for about 10 months. And when she came around again, it felt very nice to have my friend back - to feel her around me and to be buried in her writings whenever I read them. It was pleasing to hear the beautiful noise she made when she laughed. And more importantly, to see that everything had become alright and that her problem was solved already... Well, I prophesized it.
But... What happened?
What happened to us along the line, I really don't know. But I guess it was growth that took us away from each other. Or maybe it was just other problems, I can't say.
But before the drift, we were doing good as friends that I thought she was going to be around for a long time. I thought I was always going to send my first drafts to her to ask for her opinions, I thought I was going to be there to always assure her that it was going to be fine if the need to do that ever came again. Or that she would at least be able to assure me that everything would be alright if it ever became my turn to have one of those big problems. But no, she never returned that favour.
She was not my best friend and I was never hers, not even for a day. But there was something special. Something beyond what you're thinking of right now as you read this. Something just both of us could understand. Something that made me read the real meanings to the words she said. Something that made me see the real emotions in her eyes and hear them in her voice even when she tried to hide it all. That was how deep it was. That was how much I liked her... and maybe how much she liked me too.
But I wasn't really smart. I wasn't smart enough to notice when we were drifting apart. I didn't know that I was losing the power to read her thoughts, to understand her feelings and to connect with her.
When I noticed was when the table turned to the other side and she liked my friend. He liked her back, and I was kind of happy for them. But like a cheap Chinese product, their feelings didn't last. We all blamed her. We thought she just used him to feel good about herself or to cure boredom. Probably both. Probably neither, I don't know.
After their own story, we got more distant. She liked another person that I knew very well, and even though this time was unlike the last time, it ended too (well, don't they all end?). But at least, that lasted for a relatively longer time.
In the middle of all of the feelings and the stories, a lot happened. She stopped writing, or maybe I just stopped seeing them. Our circle broke, and none of us was interested in fixing things. We grew, and all of those time with one another felt like they never mattered. We became very ordinary persons to each other. She became to me, "I used to know her", and I became to her, an old friend.
Today, I read our chat from thirteen months ago. That one hour chat on WhatsApp was how it used to be 4-5 years ago, just that the chat had a bit of awkwardness.
We connected once more, but not like the vulnerable young adults that we were, because this time, we were careful. We had shields all over our words before we spoke them, and it was obvious we had things we wanted to say but we didn't know how to say them like we meant them.
Now, I'm here writing about her when I could just be texting her. I'm here thinking about her when I could just be feeling her.
I don't know if I miss her, because sincerely, weeks go by that I wouldn't even remember her name not to talk of think about her.
I don't know if she wants to talk to me or if she shares these memories, because I'm probably the only one reminiscing. Maybe I miss her, maybe I don't. Maybe she still remembers any of this or maybe our friendship never even felt like a big deal to her, I don't know.
But I know that I crave that she was here to return the favour I did for her - to tell me that one year is not a long time to wait for. To tell me that everything is going to be fine. To send me long paragraphs just to tell me that she cares about me...
But...
You know what? I don't think any of these matter. She's probably even forgotten everything.
But it's okay. The memories are enough for me.
And my pen is too.
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