I was scared as well. It wasn't an entire data wipe from 2008 to 2011 and my brain called it a day, you know? It would've been so much easier to shrug it off, and give cheers to the things that may or may not have happened.
"Hey it's 2021, #fuckcoronavirus, #selfcare, #letgo, #positivevibes. Cheers mate." Yeah right.
I knew how fucked up I was in the past and it pains me to look back. Maybe that's why my brain shut down in my defence. Maybe it was just messing with me. Maybe it was a second chance. A third, a fourth.. or a last shot at something. I don't know.
So I went to snoop around old entries I left on the Internet. In fact, I combed through them. A few entries stood out amidst cringey, young adolescent angst. I sat in front my computer, trying to recall the exact year and month something happened. No luck, I hovered over the corner of the entry, and revealed the date and time I hit 'post'.
Interesting.
Then I came across your posts. They are still there, shelved away in a dying site. I wonder how many beautiful stories out there, like yours, sat on forgotten, crumbling bookshelves, waiting to be rediscovered? Or were they left to decay because the writers have moved on? The stories holds no significance, no place in people's hearts to be relived again? Maybe.. maybe.
Nevertheless, I'm grateful that you left them untouched. The beautiful ones and the painful ones, they offered some clarity in an old girl's unreliable memory.
Don't get me wrong, though. I don't wish to reconnect, no matter how much I grieved over what could have been a meaningful friendship (no matter I hate to admit that).
I think I know what was missing now. It's gratitude.
Thank you for being there when my parents fought. Thank you for responding to my sms, letting me cry on your shoulder at 2am in the morning. For having ice cream with me after. For the long strolls. For having $2.50 chicken rice lunches with me. For the nonsensical banters. For yelling "WHAT?!" at me whenever something ridiculous comes out from my mouth. For sharing great book titles. For the showing me what sophistication and intelligence looks like. For sharing what sensitivity means. For the patience when I was so blind to everything. For the brutal honesty that burnt our bridge. For dropping by my father's funeral, even after the fallout. For keeping the conversation casual when we met on the bus. For being a friend when things got difficult. For being an acquaintance from afar.
My memories are still foggy but it's nice to remember that we've lived like that.
I'm glad you're doing well now.
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