I know I should not be proud of these things, but I’d like to think that I’m not alone contrary to how I feel. Probably one or two more people felt something like this even just a moment in their lives and I’m sorry if you ever did, because that’s how I feel/felt, too—sorry. I know some way, somehow, you feel that it is just one of those pity parties you throw for yourself to soothe you because no one will. Maybe you feel that it’s a way to show love for yourself or look out for yourself, for your own good, because like I’ve said, no one will, except you. I’m so sorry for you, for all of us, and I wish things can change for you permanently. Because that is what I wish for myself, too. But in this world where there is no guarantee, know that hope can go a long way and there are good things that can accompany you, save you even, even though they’re just things and not people, and it will be okay. I do hope that, eventually.
You know, there is an obvious pattern in my life that somehow, I take the blame about for. Like, I totally blame myself for it, but then I stopped because I don’t have anyone, so I better try to forgive myself and be kinder to her.
I don’t know if you have experienced the same and I don’t know someone who can comprehend mine, but to cut the chase short I show resolute of feeling abandoned, left out, or outcast. Not that I craved to be part of someone, a group, or anything more else, but I’d rather think there is really no constant for me, but how come there are for others? It is not envy nor jealousy, I’m just simply asking a question.
I can easily befriend anyone, I’d rather think I’m congenial. Maybe a machine flaw of mine is that I can best-friend someone, but I cannot be a best friend for them—they can be my best friend, but I’m not theirs, as simple as that thought. They have their reasons for sure, but since this is a monologue because I’m attending this session and I was told I can be myself unfiltered, solely focusing on what I just feel, I will put theirs aside for now, and feel sorry about those later. Maybe that’s another machine flaw of mine, I feel sorry for people so easily than I do for myself.
This is a pattern of my course of life since time immemorial, since I become aware of my environment, and started accumulating memories at about the age of 3. When I was in grade school, I had a close friend, her name was probably Yuki, I couldn’t remember exactly anymore. Perhaps I was in first grade, we used to have recess together and I always tell my grandmother (mama) about her how I have a friend in school who share the same interests as I was and who always went with me to have our recess together, share our food, even our drinks, and exchange stories about our favorite cartoons, it went on for half of the school year. But there were also one to two kids who bullied me—hiding my lunch box, taking my pencil which my grandfather (papa) sharpened religiously every night, taking sheets from my pad of paper without my consent, playing with my hair, you know literally make fun of me. These things my mama knew, so she talked to my class teacher to provide help. It helped though, for a few weeks, maybe a month, but there it was all over again. I didn’t tell my mama because she wanted to transfer me to another school in the middle of the school year and since Yuki stuck with me, I didn’t let my mama know because Yuki was my best friend and that’s what you do for a friend, your best friend at that, you don’t leave them. But like I’ve said, the bullying continued, and Yuki probably feared for her own good, she stopped hanging out with me. Probably, she was scared that her lunch box will be hidden too because she was with me. She’d probably thought that she’d be bullied too because she was my friend. In grade 1, I was just 6, I learned how to eat alone, do supposedly partnered works and activities alone, play alone, read alone, go to the restroom alone, everything in school, I did alone. She was my best friend until she wasn’t.
When I was in grade 3, the same thing happened to me. I had a best friend; her name was probably Hershey (I cannot even remember now). I was new. We just moved from Valenzuela City to Calamba, Laguna, so my mama was hopeful I’ll be okay because of the new environment and I will get to meet new friends. I did, eventually. Hershey and I used to scribble at the back of our notebooks, our notes for each other, the lyrics to the new NSYNC song, how Backstreet Boys are better than NSYNC and vice versa, our classroom chikahan because we did not want to be caught by the teacher speaking with each other during class, so we just exchange notes and drawings. Then she was my best friend and for a while I was hers. But, as a conservative as I was then, I don’t like wearing backless tops and tube tops, and she liked those things. She wanted us to wear the same tops because we were best friends. And I did. I tried. But I wasn’t really comfortable wearing those kinds. So, like a hot potato, she dropped me and chose a new ‘best friend’ instead. And it was grade 1 all over again.
When I was in grade 4, we went back to Valenzuela City where I spent the rest of my grade school and high school. So, my classmates in grade 4 have been classmates when they were still in Kinder to Grade 3. So goes to show that they are very well bonded, and I was the new kid, a transferee, who does not have any friends inside and outside of school. When I was in grade 4, I categorized myself as not friendly and my titos and titas tell me I am a snubbed kid. I was not, but I did not counter. I just accepted it, that maybe I really am. So, I stood by being snubbed because I felt that I won’t have a friend or like it will make a difference. And the many times I was wrong, this time I was right. I really did not have a friend. To help me, my mama got me to a school service – every morning going to school to every afternoon going back home. She did that because there will be other kids there too that maybe I will have a friend. Mama wasn’t wrong. I had. I was happy. It was okay. They were kids I went to and from school with, but they were not my friends, but we all played together, laughed together, I gave them candies as my mama told me, give them shirts that couldn’t fit me. They accept. They thank me. They are happy. We sort of found one another whenever class dismissal arrives, but they were not my friends. They don’t invite me to their birthday parties, but they invite the rest of the kids in the school service. They don’t give handwritten cards to me during Christmas parties, but they give them to their friends. So there, evidently, they were really not my friends.
When I was in high school, I also had a best friend. Our birthdays are two days apart. We were okay and I felt, that maybe that phase in grade school was just that, a phase— and it will not happen to me anymore, that I got past that. When we were in 3rd-year of high school, I liked a guy, he was our classmate, and he liked me, too, until he didn’t. I confided with my best friend about how brokenhearted I am, I was so hurt, I cried my heart out, my eyes out, I couldn’t eat nor sleep. It was probably my first heartbreak. Time passed, they started going out. They became a couple. Three of us were in the same class. I didn’t know how I was able to survive that. And the falling out with my friend, the one I considered my best friend, was way more painful than the breakup I had with that guy. They dated for years. I moved on. My then best friend and I weren’t talking anymore for the years that they were together. College came and they were still together until they were not. She and I have been in communication since they have broken up. She’d probably apologized to me. I remember I comforted her. I wanted it to be the same for the both of us again, but as time healed all wounds, it changed a lot, too. And sometimes, we can never go back, we can only move forward. Until now I love her still. She is still my friend and I pray for her happiness always. I wish her good luck with her endeavors, and I am truly happy about everything she’s doing now. Maybe I did not tell her this, but she is still a friend to me, I will still be there when she needs me. She was there for me majority of my years in high school where there were mean girls everywhere, too, who did not like me for the sole reason I’m me. Until now, I haven’t figured out why. But I was thankful I had a group of friends who saved me from my loneliness, my alienation, from myself even. I’ve changed too, through the course of the years, we all were.
When I was in college, it was a different element all in all. I did enjoy my college years and I’ve gained a lot of friends. Twice or maybe thrice the number of what I’ve lost in the past, I didn’t have a solid barkada, I believe I was the one who can be friends with any group—higher years, irregular students, from other programs, from other schools even. But, I had my second group of friends who welcomed me with open arms. I had a college best friend, who is still my best friend, and you know what’s funny? I am not hers. See the pattern? I can consider them my best friend and it can be not mutual. She was always there for me, you know? She’s the one I told all my secrets to, all of the craziness about me, I think, she’s the first to know. But I wasn’t the first to know whatever she’s up to and whenever it comes to that, I just say to myself that it’s not about me and they can be free to choose who their best friends are. And then we came to this day, where I found out that she’s suffering from a disease, and I found out through her social media post, her Facebook Story, and concerned as I was and still deeply, I asked her, and she did let me know about it. Everybody in our small circle of friends, our group of 3, I was the last to know. And still, I told myself, it wasn’t about me. Why make it about me when I was the one who’s healthy, who’s okay, who looks happy, who’s unbothered, than her who thinks and feels like she’s running out of time? I should not be hurt because that’s not fair, but I was hurt, and probably I was being unfair. Like a best friend, I wish I could share her pain, I wish I could do something for her, but I cannot, I can only do so much, I just wish I could. I wish my prayers for her to reach the gates of heaven above so she’d be freed from her pain, so she could be healed; she’s my best friend, even though I’m not hers. That, in my head over and over, the. it’s grade 1 all over again.
To strongly agree with the pattern, I also have a best friend, another one, or so I thought, who I met in an org. She’s a confidante. She’s a sister. She’s a go-to person. She’s everything I thank the heavens above for. She’s constant. But I am not her best friend, probably I’m not her constant, I felt, because in the sea of the crowd of people we know, she’ll not stick with me, she’ll try, of course, because she’s a good friend, but it won’t be with me. In a crowd, I’ll be alone. Maybe I’m not the type that is chooseable? Is that even a word? Maybe I’m too stiff, too toxic even? You put everyone out there and then you’ll see, they will not stick with you, even though you were constant, because someone in their lives is constant, too, and maybe they are better.
What’s this called? What is this kind of disorder? Is there something wrong with me? Can therapy be an answer? Because I just feel that I’m not cut for it, I’m not enough. Even though I say things right, I match what I say with the right actions, it really won’t cut it. And I’m tired. I’m in my 30s now and it’s first grade over and over. I swear, sometimes I tell myself that it’s not a big deal, that it’s okay, but sometimes, too, it is not. I know that it is okay to give than to receive and you should not ask for something in return. I wasn’t. I just have questions. What would I do? Should I shut myself to the world because it’s tiring and draining all at the same time? Giving that energy, effort, and attention to people who treat me last on their list; was it worth it? Is this just how it is? Is this how it will be? They can tell you all the right things and act otherwise, you know. They are not to be blamed I guess, sometimes I feel I’m giving away myself far too much, but that’s how it should be, right? To give and be happy about giving. To give and not ask for anything in return. But why is it draining? Why do I feel like I’m not on the right track? Does this define me?