Confession

I've only been alive for twenty-four years, so one can imagine that there are few things that I am certain about:


 That God exists, that He loves me, that He wants what's best ---these to me are the foundations that keep me sane. They help me out of the plethora of ruts I have the tendency to get stuck in. These are the things that assure me that I don't have to be scared of growing old alone. I don't want to, but when I get scared, I think of Him, and then I can shrug my shoulders. Meh. No big deal.

That I want to be a writer is another one. I will never be satisfied until I see a book I'd authored standing on a store shelf awaiting public criticism. It frightens me, the thought that what I have to say and how I say it will be subject to open scrutiny, but as a book lover, the desire to tell a story of my own with the written word has long been with me, ever since I finished my very first book all by myself when I was five-and-a-half years old: Elizabeth Enright's Then There Were Five.

Friendships though, are a different thing. I'm never exactly certain about them. I guess being bullied all throughout one's childhood makes a person, at the very least, hesitant and in some cases deeply distrustful, of other people. Unlike family, friends can choose not to be associated with you in any manner and no one would think them as evil and heartless. I've been rejected enough times that I've come to expect it, and I don't even wonder why they do it. Not anymore.

So when I received an email today from a colleague at work, I wasn't really expecting much of anything. She's older than me and a writer. Legit. She's had her work published online and in magazines. I call her a ninja not just because she likes them so much, but also because of her demeanor: disciplined, perpetually calm, usually quiet but aware; nothing escapes her attention. We're on the same shift and somehow we'd gotten accustomed to doing things together. I thought she'd sent me a story she wants me to comment on. When I read it though, I realized something: She'd become my friend.

I needed to give her a hug. So I did. It was more for me that I did, to be quite honest. I'd been feeling horrible this past month. Not exactly sad, but not happy either. Discovering that I'd made a friend was a welcome relief.  I'd had a fight with one of my best friends, and my other best friend just feels so...far away, I guess.

Why am I saying this, and here of all places?

Because there are three people I want to share these thoughts with, and I'm not exactly sure where to start or how. I know it's crude, and selfish, and perhaps unfair. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and very few people read this blog anyway.

So here goes.

To our resident ninja: thank you. Like you, I let very few people in, and even then I'm cautious and afraid, certain that they would someday leave. Your trust is a marvelous gift. I'm an only child (again like you), but I feel I've found a wise older sister in you.

To T: Please don't think that I don't care. I pray for you everyday, and hope that you won't change your mind about being friends with me. I admit, sometimes the distance seems to go beyond just our physical locations. But we became close in spite of our vast differences, something I still wonder about to this day, but for which I am extremely grateful.

To R: I miss you. I hope you understand that I was more scared and confused than angry. I apologize for not trying hard enough to understand your side of the story, I did not mean to push you away. Because of your encouragement I've done things I was certain I would never do for lack of self-confidence, and have learned to be more forgiving of my own imperfections. Our friendship isn't perfect, but I want it. I hope you haven't changed your mind about me being your best friend. I haven't, and I'm certain I never will.