I feel all panicky and lost and clammed up, it's crazy.
I was spending my new year's eve with my old friends yesterday at one of their houses and it was so unbelievably awkward. With our plates in front of us piled with food, we couldn't think of much to say and occupied the silence with eating and occasional giggling. Then it hit me.
Sometimes, friendships aren't meant to be, no matter how much you promise each other or try to ease in a listening ear or two or give hugs or hang out. Distance, distance will always be that immense factor that separates you from what was once your group of closest friends. The absence has been so vast that when you finally come together, there is nothing to talk about to bridge the gap of our different experiences. You could tell your friend about an average day at your own school, but you would never be able to tell them with the same eagerness interesting things that have happened to you. It's just not the same. It never will be. The time spent apart has been too prolonged that you even start wondering if it's worth it to continue and keep trying, because it's like you're sitting at a table with a group of strangers.
Something else that hurts and stings me (oh, what's new right?) is how I feel like I'm the biggest stranger to them. With them, I've changed. I realize it myself, how quiet I am around them, how I just sit and listen to their conversations, how I smile shyly almost as if I've just met them, how I'm always looking down and not contributing much to the banter that always seems to rise from them after they warm up with each other. And in my listening, I notice. I notice how all of them have something in common. How all of them have met up together before, had lunch at each other's schools, met their friends, made friends with their friends, so they all have that something to laugh about together. They never met my friends, never called to ask if I was ever free to have a meal together, never bothered. But I shouldn't even be surprised I guess, because I honestly cannot deny the fact that all my years I've spent with them, they have always kept secrets from me, always known something else they wouldn't bother to bring up to me thinking I wouldn't realize. Maybe because I was the one who never bothered. Maybe in this way I'm spoilt ; in all my experiences with people, I've been so indifferent to their leaving and so nonchalant about my own leaving. But that small crevice in my heart still holds a tiny hope that they are going to turn and call me back, try hard for me so I won't go. It's always that tiny expectance. I admit it.
A year from now, who's to say it'll be easy to bring us all together? Maybe a year from now the facade will drop and everyone of them will decide there's nothing to bridge the crack (for me, a hole) that's formed between us.
Something else I'd like to pour out here is the way it seems like I'm losing myself more and more. I think everyone is afflicted with the same problem- loss, but of varying levels of intensity. For example, I could tell you I lost my wallet from carelessness, but someone else has lost a friend to conflict, and another one has lost a parent to death. So you see, we are all but the same. In some way or another.
I was looking through my old things to decide which to throw out (btw I am hoarder and I hardly ever throw away stuff out of my sentimentality and the constant thinking that I might need that something in the future) when panic ripped inside me and with a shocking realization, it hit me that I couldn't remember where I'd gotten some of my things. I 'd forgotten who had given me that letter with the words of encouragement, who had given me that keychain, why or for who was it that I had that half sewn stuffed toy I'd never gotten around to finish, when did I write that short poem on that piece of paper, why did I scribble those few words on that crumpled card....I had completely forgotten. These were all physical forms of memories and I had forgotten. It tore through me so hard, for I, a hoarder, had kept all these little things as way of memory yet ironically I had forgotten each purpose and reason behind each object I had found. It was depressing, maddening.
It's oh so difficult to find someone to sit and talk to because it's always either that worry that you're disturbing them, or conversations are never sincere because you know when people only talk to you so they can go on and on about their complicated love life. Don't get me wrong- I absolutely enjoy sitting down and listening to you pour out your woes to me- it makes me feel trusted- but sometimes I need a break, I need solace, I need comfort and someone to reassure me. Make me feel like I can pick myself up and leave behind the sadness and the anger welled up inside me and become happy again. Truly happy.
You're always looking for that one person, that soul mate.
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