So you know how a while ago I admitted to my embarrassing old man-crush on James Garner? A.K.A the very cool Jim Rockford from The Rockford Files? Well, even more embarrassingly so it seems, I’ve now swung to the other, cradle-snatching side of the pendulum, focusing my swoony eyes upon… One Direction.
Ouch. So hard to admit.
I find the whole fascination with them utterly hilarious. I’ve made fun of the fans in a very tongue-in-cheek way, of course not forgetting that I too, once upon a time, was a full-fledged teeny-bopper, bouncing along to Hanson… then 5ive… then N*Sync.
Yep. I can’t talk.
So I remember how it’s like. The adolescent fantasies, believing that one day, somehow, we would be together (first it was Taylor, then Scott, then Justin… Justin I still love though ) and the obsessive maniac-ness of it all. Posters, CDs, books scrawled with their names, the aggressive defending of anyone even thinking to bag them or their musical-genius talents. Oh yes, I remember. After a big argument we had, my Mum threatened that she would rip off all my Hanson posters when I was at school.
That was quite possibly the worst day EVER of my 14 year life.
Because I’m familiar with those feelings, I will try be sensitive to 1D-ers. But you must admit, they are HILARIOUS. And I was never that annoying too.
Despite my whole rolling-of-the-eyes façade when I see a posse of little girls run around with their ipods blasting “everyone else in the room can see me, everyone else but youuuuuu…” screaming like cats on heat and professing their undying love and devotion to them, even though they will undoubtedly, DEFINITELY, get over them in a year (look at the above list, IT WILL HAPPEN), I too found myself enjoying them a bit too much yesterday.
You know those fillers they place around movies and stuff during daytime TV? Well I saw one yesterday where No Direction performed in the street set-up on the Today show. They sung 3 songs, the first one was the “that’s what makes you beautiful,” the second was my favourite, the “get up, get up, get out of my head! And fall into my arms instead, I don’t I don’t don’t know what it is, but you’ve got that one thing.”
Oh dear. I know the whole chorus. You sing it and try get it out of your head, I dare you.
Then they sang one more song, I don’t think it’s been released (like I should know, big fan I am! LOL) but it was something like “when he lays me down, it just kills me inside…” I was like WTF? You guys are singing about sex? Do your fans even get wet yet?
Sorry. I know that was inappropriate. I tone my blog down because I can be very rude at times, but I just had to say it. Like seriously people. Are they really watching girls they like getting bonked by other guys? At like 15 or whatever their age is?
Anyway, I can’t talk, because in amongst observing all this teen-drama, I realised that Harry is very cute.
Yes Harry. I’m a Harry-girl.
(I’ll just wait for the 1D death threats and angry mails to start flooding – in “he’s mine!” and “I’ll kill you bitch!” They’re little girls though, so I doubt they use foul language yet, few years to go ‘til they hit 12. :p)
He looks very dreamy and has a really sexy voice, it’s very deep for his young, young years. I did previously think that the black-haired guy was cute, the one who reminds me of AJ from Backstreet Boys. But I think I’ve changed, there’s just something very solemn and perplexing about his gaze, especially when he sang the above ‘guy-laying-you-down-I-die’ bit and held his heart. It was like he was actually HURTING.
LOL. I’m having too much fun now.
But if I was a teenybopper now, I would create outrageous fantasies, with Harry, and black-haired AJ look-a-like fighting over me, and then the other dude, no idea what his name is but the girls went nuts when he sang his part, well he would step in and say “hey, move over guys, she’s mine…”
No! Stop it! It’s wrong, so so wrong.
:)
Showing posts with label fight. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fight. Show all posts
Friday, June 15, 2012
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
When I was 14, I was right - Part 2 (The Elephant in the Room)
I often have a particular thought. This thought comes to me every time I find myself somewhere unexpected. In particular, if it's a place that, years earlier, if you had told me I'd be there, I would have said "Get out! No way!"
It was later on, after high school, in my early uni years, where I felt more sad, rather than upset, about the whole thing. About how it had ended. About how we had both eventually tried to patch things up over the years, to no avail, no response from the other party. It seemed we were out of sync: when one was ready to make up, the other wouldn't hear of it. And the funny thing is, it was all unspoken. We knew this, just because, we knew. We knew each other so well and knew what we were feeling, even without a word being spoken. Without a glimmer of any argument or ill word.
There was a point at which, I grew so saddened by the situation in retrospect, that although I wanted to catch up, the thought of calling her terrified me. I mean, 6 years had past, how would I know that she cared? Rejection is a powerful force, and it kept me from calling...but it didn't keep me from sending a birthday card.
I'd decided once again to use her birthday as an opportunity to reach out. I did send a card, just with a simple happy birthday message..... from me. I refrained from saying anything about the friendship, or suggesting a catch up, because I thought if she wanted it, she would call and say thanks, and therefore the conversation would probably naturally lead in that direction anyway.
However I never did get a phone call, nothing. I often wondered if she had moved house, or if the card got lost...... yeah, that makes you feel better doesn't it? Easier to believe that than to think the worst.
I ended up bumping into her a few times, funnily enough she came into the store where I worked casually, and although initially and totally shocked by the encounter, we both remained casual and made small talk. As if never had ever happened. But clearly it had. Or we wouldn't be partaking in small talk.
And I asked her: had she received my birthday card? It had been at least a year since then, and I had to know.
Her response? A coy smile, yes and a thank you.
Oh, it was all very well and good. Thank you for telling me all I had to know about what you thought of our once-friendship, and that you clearly didn't care. I shouldn't have been upset, it was better to know than to go on believing she cared. Because if she did she would have called and said a simple thank you.
But I just couldn't push it out of my mind. Unfinished business it was. And I truly believed that a simple incident, so many years ago, had stuffed up a fantastic friendship.
Years went on. Occasionally I had dreams. They would occur maybe every 6 months or so. Probably after I had thought of her, of the situation. But in every dream, we would end up friends again. Talk about dream fulfillment.
Life went on. Jobs, friends, came and went, and then life turned busy. I joined the social interactive network known as "Facebook" and shortly after that, life got even busier when I started planning my wedding.
And one day, while checking my inbox, I saw it. She had requested me as a friend on Facebook. Obviously, she had come across me, maybe through our mutual link to some groups, and decided to "add" me as a friend.
I'll keep the next part brief: a few messages went across, back and forth between us, blah, blah, blah, and we kept saying that we should catch up, but with, well life, it just didn't turn out. I got married and that was it.
Actually by that stage I was pretty much over it. I guess I hadn't admitted that fact to myself, but I was. I'd slowly, subconsciously, come to the realisation that, it wasn't meant to be. Regardless of how the friendship had ended and through what means, it clearly wasn't meant to be, despite random meetings and intentional phone calls and methods of contact. The universe clearly didn't want it to happen.
And why should I have wanted it to happen? I had fantastic friends in my life. In fact, two of my besties are truly my besties. I love them so dearly, and we have such a fun, loving and honest relationship, that really there seemed no need to actively pursue a friend, who I'd seen in the past, wasn't sure herself of what she wanted.
People change yes. But when your friends change, and you stay as is, finding the change difficult to accept..... well, in a life where I had the best friends anyone could want, I honestly didn't need to go back to that.
Funny how when you don't want things, the universe presents it to you..... "here.... do you want it? take it, take it!"
A few weeks ago, late at night after dinner at my parents, I had to make a quick stop at the supermarket to get some lunch meat for work the next day. I made my usual selection, and after standing in line, I proceeded to pay. It was then that I felt a soft tap on my arm, and I looked at my left to see who it was.
It was her.
My former, late, ex, call her what you will, my previous bestie.
It was a shock I tell you that much. After she paid for her own item, we spoke for a bit. It felt funny, surreal, more like something out of my dream. Two former friends bump into each other at the supermarket late at night, and end up making uncomfortable-but-trying-to-be-casual small talk, while the 15 year-old barely legal shop assistant continues to put items through for customers, wanting to finish his shift but simultaneously straining to hear our conversation.
We ended it quickly: she had somewhere to be, and we both left, through opposite exit doors of the supermarket. I felt relieved for the encounter to be over, but also, a bit sad. A part of me had thought: "you should have suggested a catch-up, it was the perfect opportunity."
But the more I thought about it as I drove home, with hubbie beside me listening to music, was that I was good. I was ok with things. I actually had no more of a need to want to mend things. To finish things that were unfinished, whether that be finish them in a good or bad way. I could leave everything as is, and accept life for what I had and what was, what was real. We were always going to be just small talk friends, despite our history, and I no longer cared. It wasn't in a bad way, I was just over it all. And I pondered this, and I was content about it, on the drive home.
Late that night, I received a text message on my mobile. I noticed the unknown number, and thought it was due to the fact that that week I'd messaged a whole lot of people about my upcoming birthday. Clearly I'd messaged someone who now had a new number. I was busy when I got the message, and so almost forgot to check until about half an hour later.
It was her. Again.
Proof of the fact that even before that night I was already over everything, was the fact that when I'd changed mobile phones and was reentering friends contacts into my new mobile, I 'd decided to keep her number out. I had even forgotten about that at first, reading her message, thinking "she has a new number....." then again distantly remembering my decision months earlier.
In her message, she made light of the fact that we'd bumped into each other, and suggested it was time for a catch up. After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing in our messages, we decided to catch up for coffee a few days later. I felt weird. I felt good, surprisingly so, as if my wish had come true way too late, but clearly not late enough, as I obviously still had these lingering incomplete feelings in regards to our fallen friendship, and the fact that I was pleased meant I hadn't totally given up hope. Or had I?
Finally, the day came. Not after days, not even after weeks and months. But at least a decade. Because that's how long it had been, since all of this happened. All of this confusion, not speaking to one another, all the frustration and anger. And we were actually meeting. It felt quite surreal.
Which is probably why the whole experience felt like I wasn't there. I felt oddly calm and relaxed. Part of it probably was due to the fact that we had known each other so well, that it was easy to slip into each other's lives again. But.... there was just something odd.
We sat, we drank tea, talked, caught up on each other's lives, work, relationships, holidays, family. I don't think there were any long silences, at least not long in terms of staring off into the distance trying to find a topic to speak of.
She was the same, but different of course. The years make you more mature in some ways, and I'm sure she thought that of me too. She was her same, friendly, talkative self. But more subdued. More grown up. As if she's gone through a bit. She mentioned something big that had recently happened in her life, with quite ease, which proves my theory.
I guess the main point of weirdness for us that night, was the elephant in the room. I'd thought about this elephant a lot, before our meeting that night, and wanted to confront that elephant with her. This wasn't just any normal elephant. I mean, this one was bright pink, had bells and whistles, a party hat, and a little white tutu. Quite extraordinary I must say. And the whole time, this elephant sat right next to us. Just watching, like a tennis match, as we exchanged light conversation.
And not once, throughout this whole meeting, did we acknowledge the elephant. Poor elephant, waiting there, just wanting to be talked about. It's almost 11 years old, and we didn't even mention it's upcoming birthday.
Ha.
Despite all the time we'd passed, neither was brave enough to broach the subject of what happened so many years ago. We both pretended that everything was cool. That we disappeared from each others lives quite easily, as if part of normal everyday life. I had wanted to bring it up so badly, bring up that glaring, waiting, anticipating elephant so much, but I just couldn't. It would have been too confronting too soon. I didn't know what was right or wrong, really. It was just too hard to confront all that, at an easy, catch-up-on-the-past-decade-of-our-lives-over-tea meeting.
So we finished our teas. And walked to our cars. And said we would catch up again, when she got back from her holiday.
And we got in our cars and drove off.
And I thought "next time, I'll bring up the elephant. At our next meeting it'll be more appropriate."
But, as I drove home, feeling quite normal about the whole night, I realised something.
I wasn't sure if I wanted there to be a next time.
I thought really slowly and carefully about this for the rest of the way home. Which brings me to my post title. When I was 14.... was I right?
This whole time I'd always thought that it was the circumstance surrounding our unofficial break-up, fuelled by our puberty enraged hormones and teenager natural-bitch-tendency that had created this whole mess. And now I was beginning to see that I may have been right all along. At 14 years, despite my raging hormones and mildly unreasonable anger, I could have had a moment of complete clarity, a moment where I could have forseen the future, which involved two friends, slowly growing apart due to different interests, their lives heading in two different directions. And I chose the opportunity for a not-so-clean break.
This realisation has really stunned me. Years of wondering "what if?" have now changed to "I may have been right all along." Right to leave things as they were. Suddenly seeing things differently, from a new perspective, after struggling so long to deal with what happened, is somewhat, liberating. Especially when you learn that despite the puberty blues, you were right.
I don't know. That's why I use the word 'may.' May have been right.
She's still on holiday as far as I know. There's been no contact since. Only time will tell whether our odd-meeting was due to the fact that it's been so long, and it will take time to get into each other's lives again: that is, our encounter was fated to be.
OR, whether it was just a culmination of the past decade, proving that some things, are just best left behind.
Life can be weird. It gives you things when you least want them, and tests you by taking away often what you think is dearest to you. However, life is at it's most unique when it shows you that you were right all along. I'll find out soon enough if this is the case for me.
It was later on, after high school, in my early uni years, where I felt more sad, rather than upset, about the whole thing. About how it had ended. About how we had both eventually tried to patch things up over the years, to no avail, no response from the other party. It seemed we were out of sync: when one was ready to make up, the other wouldn't hear of it. And the funny thing is, it was all unspoken. We knew this, just because, we knew. We knew each other so well and knew what we were feeling, even without a word being spoken. Without a glimmer of any argument or ill word.
There was a point at which, I grew so saddened by the situation in retrospect, that although I wanted to catch up, the thought of calling her terrified me. I mean, 6 years had past, how would I know that she cared? Rejection is a powerful force, and it kept me from calling...but it didn't keep me from sending a birthday card.
I'd decided once again to use her birthday as an opportunity to reach out. I did send a card, just with a simple happy birthday message..... from me. I refrained from saying anything about the friendship, or suggesting a catch up, because I thought if she wanted it, she would call and say thanks, and therefore the conversation would probably naturally lead in that direction anyway.
However I never did get a phone call, nothing. I often wondered if she had moved house, or if the card got lost...... yeah, that makes you feel better doesn't it? Easier to believe that than to think the worst.
I ended up bumping into her a few times, funnily enough she came into the store where I worked casually, and although initially and totally shocked by the encounter, we both remained casual and made small talk. As if never had ever happened. But clearly it had. Or we wouldn't be partaking in small talk.
And I asked her: had she received my birthday card? It had been at least a year since then, and I had to know.
Her response? A coy smile, yes and a thank you.
Oh, it was all very well and good. Thank you for telling me all I had to know about what you thought of our once-friendship, and that you clearly didn't care. I shouldn't have been upset, it was better to know than to go on believing she cared. Because if she did she would have called and said a simple thank you.
But I just couldn't push it out of my mind. Unfinished business it was. And I truly believed that a simple incident, so many years ago, had stuffed up a fantastic friendship.
Years went on. Occasionally I had dreams. They would occur maybe every 6 months or so. Probably after I had thought of her, of the situation. But in every dream, we would end up friends again. Talk about dream fulfillment.
Life went on. Jobs, friends, came and went, and then life turned busy. I joined the social interactive network known as "Facebook" and shortly after that, life got even busier when I started planning my wedding.
And one day, while checking my inbox, I saw it. She had requested me as a friend on Facebook. Obviously, she had come across me, maybe through our mutual link to some groups, and decided to "add" me as a friend.
I'll keep the next part brief: a few messages went across, back and forth between us, blah, blah, blah, and we kept saying that we should catch up, but with, well life, it just didn't turn out. I got married and that was it.
Actually by that stage I was pretty much over it. I guess I hadn't admitted that fact to myself, but I was. I'd slowly, subconsciously, come to the realisation that, it wasn't meant to be. Regardless of how the friendship had ended and through what means, it clearly wasn't meant to be, despite random meetings and intentional phone calls and methods of contact. The universe clearly didn't want it to happen.
And why should I have wanted it to happen? I had fantastic friends in my life. In fact, two of my besties are truly my besties. I love them so dearly, and we have such a fun, loving and honest relationship, that really there seemed no need to actively pursue a friend, who I'd seen in the past, wasn't sure herself of what she wanted.
People change yes. But when your friends change, and you stay as is, finding the change difficult to accept..... well, in a life where I had the best friends anyone could want, I honestly didn't need to go back to that.
Funny how when you don't want things, the universe presents it to you..... "here.... do you want it? take it, take it!"
A few weeks ago, late at night after dinner at my parents, I had to make a quick stop at the supermarket to get some lunch meat for work the next day. I made my usual selection, and after standing in line, I proceeded to pay. It was then that I felt a soft tap on my arm, and I looked at my left to see who it was.
It was her.
My former, late, ex, call her what you will, my previous bestie.
It was a shock I tell you that much. After she paid for her own item, we spoke for a bit. It felt funny, surreal, more like something out of my dream. Two former friends bump into each other at the supermarket late at night, and end up making uncomfortable-but-trying-to-be-casual small talk, while the 15 year-old barely legal shop assistant continues to put items through for customers, wanting to finish his shift but simultaneously straining to hear our conversation.
We ended it quickly: she had somewhere to be, and we both left, through opposite exit doors of the supermarket. I felt relieved for the encounter to be over, but also, a bit sad. A part of me had thought: "you should have suggested a catch-up, it was the perfect opportunity."
But the more I thought about it as I drove home, with hubbie beside me listening to music, was that I was good. I was ok with things. I actually had no more of a need to want to mend things. To finish things that were unfinished, whether that be finish them in a good or bad way. I could leave everything as is, and accept life for what I had and what was, what was real. We were always going to be just small talk friends, despite our history, and I no longer cared. It wasn't in a bad way, I was just over it all. And I pondered this, and I was content about it, on the drive home.
Late that night, I received a text message on my mobile. I noticed the unknown number, and thought it was due to the fact that that week I'd messaged a whole lot of people about my upcoming birthday. Clearly I'd messaged someone who now had a new number. I was busy when I got the message, and so almost forgot to check until about half an hour later.
It was her. Again.
Proof of the fact that even before that night I was already over everything, was the fact that when I'd changed mobile phones and was reentering friends contacts into my new mobile, I 'd decided to keep her number out. I had even forgotten about that at first, reading her message, thinking "she has a new number....." then again distantly remembering my decision months earlier.
In her message, she made light of the fact that we'd bumped into each other, and suggested it was time for a catch up. After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing in our messages, we decided to catch up for coffee a few days later. I felt weird. I felt good, surprisingly so, as if my wish had come true way too late, but clearly not late enough, as I obviously still had these lingering incomplete feelings in regards to our fallen friendship, and the fact that I was pleased meant I hadn't totally given up hope. Or had I?
Finally, the day came. Not after days, not even after weeks and months. But at least a decade. Because that's how long it had been, since all of this happened. All of this confusion, not speaking to one another, all the frustration and anger. And we were actually meeting. It felt quite surreal.
Which is probably why the whole experience felt like I wasn't there. I felt oddly calm and relaxed. Part of it probably was due to the fact that we had known each other so well, that it was easy to slip into each other's lives again. But.... there was just something odd.
We sat, we drank tea, talked, caught up on each other's lives, work, relationships, holidays, family. I don't think there were any long silences, at least not long in terms of staring off into the distance trying to find a topic to speak of.
She was the same, but different of course. The years make you more mature in some ways, and I'm sure she thought that of me too. She was her same, friendly, talkative self. But more subdued. More grown up. As if she's gone through a bit. She mentioned something big that had recently happened in her life, with quite ease, which proves my theory.
I guess the main point of weirdness for us that night, was the elephant in the room. I'd thought about this elephant a lot, before our meeting that night, and wanted to confront that elephant with her. This wasn't just any normal elephant. I mean, this one was bright pink, had bells and whistles, a party hat, and a little white tutu. Quite extraordinary I must say. And the whole time, this elephant sat right next to us. Just watching, like a tennis match, as we exchanged light conversation.
And not once, throughout this whole meeting, did we acknowledge the elephant. Poor elephant, waiting there, just wanting to be talked about. It's almost 11 years old, and we didn't even mention it's upcoming birthday.
Ha.
Despite all the time we'd passed, neither was brave enough to broach the subject of what happened so many years ago. We both pretended that everything was cool. That we disappeared from each others lives quite easily, as if part of normal everyday life. I had wanted to bring it up so badly, bring up that glaring, waiting, anticipating elephant so much, but I just couldn't. It would have been too confronting too soon. I didn't know what was right or wrong, really. It was just too hard to confront all that, at an easy, catch-up-on-the-past-decade-of-our-lives-over-tea meeting.
So we finished our teas. And walked to our cars. And said we would catch up again, when she got back from her holiday.
And we got in our cars and drove off.
And I thought "next time, I'll bring up the elephant. At our next meeting it'll be more appropriate."
But, as I drove home, feeling quite normal about the whole night, I realised something.
I wasn't sure if I wanted there to be a next time.
I thought really slowly and carefully about this for the rest of the way home. Which brings me to my post title. When I was 14.... was I right?
This whole time I'd always thought that it was the circumstance surrounding our unofficial break-up, fuelled by our puberty enraged hormones and teenager natural-bitch-tendency that had created this whole mess. And now I was beginning to see that I may have been right all along. At 14 years, despite my raging hormones and mildly unreasonable anger, I could have had a moment of complete clarity, a moment where I could have forseen the future, which involved two friends, slowly growing apart due to different interests, their lives heading in two different directions. And I chose the opportunity for a not-so-clean break.
This realisation has really stunned me. Years of wondering "what if?" have now changed to "I may have been right all along." Right to leave things as they were. Suddenly seeing things differently, from a new perspective, after struggling so long to deal with what happened, is somewhat, liberating. Especially when you learn that despite the puberty blues, you were right.
I don't know. That's why I use the word 'may.' May have been right.
She's still on holiday as far as I know. There's been no contact since. Only time will tell whether our odd-meeting was due to the fact that it's been so long, and it will take time to get into each other's lives again: that is, our encounter was fated to be.
OR, whether it was just a culmination of the past decade, proving that some things, are just best left behind.
Life can be weird. It gives you things when you least want them, and tests you by taking away often what you think is dearest to you. However, life is at it's most unique when it shows you that you were right all along. I'll find out soon enough if this is the case for me.
Friday, August 28, 2009
When I was 14, I was right
I mentioned in my first post, that since my birthday I'd grown up and realised a few truths. One of those involved an old friend. Well, used-to-be-friend? Let me explain.
There was a girl, who years and years ago I was the absolute most, best, friends with. We were besties from primary school right up until early high school. About 7 years I'd say. We even survived moving schools and different friends. A fond memory I have, which I guess isn't a specific memory but nontheless, was us being in grade 1 or 2, and after spending the whole day together at school, still calling each other up at the end of the night to talk more. I mean, come on, how much do 7 year olds have to say to each other?
Then puberty came along. Well, call it puberty, call it growing up, changing, what you like. My side of the story is that I felt she was changing. In particular, a certain friend of hers, I felt was making her change, making her act differently, making her, not... her.
And I must admit. I was probably jealous. Upset by the fact that this was a new friend that she was hanging out with a lot. It didn't help that her new friend was quite frankly, a bitch. Yes, she was quite up herself and derogatory in her comments and general demeanour. So the story was, I didn't like her, or her influence on my bestie.
But I kept quiet. And instead vented in my diary. I'd kept a diary for years and loved the therapeutic benefits of storytelling my life. Much the reason why I've started blogging. Sadly I feel like I don't have time for old-fashioned diary writing in my life anymore, which is why the convenience of having a computer at work has helped me start blogging.
So one day, after an overseas trip I had taken with my parents, my bestie had come over so I could give her a low down on my trip, in particular any guy gossip that may have occurred.....?
I was still shy and old-fashioned. No I hadn't picked up while I was there, although there had been guy situations, but nothing like what she expected.
So I felt a bit of her disappointment, already in that short time of her visit. She was already "experienced" in the art of picking up, or that was how she portrayed it, probably due to her bitchy friend. So her stage of life was far advanced to mine, or that was how I was made to feel.
Anyway, I was going through my diary to jog my memory, recounting the holiday to her, when I was called for lunch. I remember this next moment clearly. We were both sitting on my bed. I left the diary on my bed. Unlocked but closed. It had one of those little locks which you needed a key to open, however the lock went around a metal hook, in order to keep the pages hidden and safe from being read. And I very clearly remember the book being slightly propped up by the hook, but it was still closed. I guess it's hard to envisage if you haven't had one of these diaries, but you get the picture.
And I walked away, leaving her alone in my room.
When I came back, 15 minutes later, I sat back down on the bed to continue my holiday recounting process. And noticed the hook part of the diary had "slipped." It was now not propping up the book's pages, the book was fully closed, with the hook slightly on the side.
This was not a hook that could move by itself. Even shuffling around on a bed could not move it. It had been moved.
Which only meant one thing. She had read my diary.
And I knew it. She was different. Quiet. Contemplative. Short answers, small conversation.
I didn't say a thing. Acted normal. I ended up walking her to her house, sussing out her body language. We said goodbye as normal. Said we'd talk again and catch up soon. And that was it.
That was the last day she was my best friend.
I thought about it that night. She had read my diary. Not only had she read it, invading my personal space and betraying my trust, but ironically, in doing so she had discovered MY betrayal of her. For within those pages I had had bursts of rage, both at her and at her friend. She would have seen this undoubtedly, on my "graffiti page" where I just wrote random thoughts and feelings as teens do on their school folders and pencil cases.
I know I could have called her. I could have confronted her about it, or I could have explained myself. But I chose to stay quiet. I didn't like the person she had become, and I was angry.
Days, weeks, months past. Not one of us made an effort to contact the other. A mutual friend of ours (well, more my friend, as she was my OTHER best friend, who went to her high school) spoke to her, and it seems the gist of it was that I wasn't calling, so why should she?
We were in a battle of who cared most to break down the stubborn barrier.
In fact, sadly, we never did make up. Our relationship remained as it was, unfinished, undefined, up-in-the-air. We hadn't even had a proper fight to warrant not speaking. I had chosen her betrayal, and also her changing personality, to just give up. She had undoubtedly chosen MY betrayal, to stand her ground. And so, a great friendship of 7 years, just disappeared.
There was minimal contact. On my birthday the following year, she contacted me to wish me a happy birthday. I said we should catch up in the next few weeks. But I never called her. And she took that as rejection. I wasn't ready, and the wounds were still fresh. I was still upset.
Then when her birthday came around, I was ready. I called to wish her a happy birthday, just as she had done for me the previous year. This time she said it: "We should catch up in the next few weeks, I'll call you."
I knew what that really meant. It was as if I could hear her inner voice speaking out to me over her audible voice, saying "stuff you, you can wait now."
And I was right, she didn't call.
But what happened years later? Something I never would've expected. A place I'd never have expected myself to be........ To be Continued
There was a girl, who years and years ago I was the absolute most, best, friends with. We were besties from primary school right up until early high school. About 7 years I'd say. We even survived moving schools and different friends. A fond memory I have, which I guess isn't a specific memory but nontheless, was us being in grade 1 or 2, and after spending the whole day together at school, still calling each other up at the end of the night to talk more. I mean, come on, how much do 7 year olds have to say to each other?
Then puberty came along. Well, call it puberty, call it growing up, changing, what you like. My side of the story is that I felt she was changing. In particular, a certain friend of hers, I felt was making her change, making her act differently, making her, not... her.
And I must admit. I was probably jealous. Upset by the fact that this was a new friend that she was hanging out with a lot. It didn't help that her new friend was quite frankly, a bitch. Yes, she was quite up herself and derogatory in her comments and general demeanour. So the story was, I didn't like her, or her influence on my bestie.
But I kept quiet. And instead vented in my diary. I'd kept a diary for years and loved the therapeutic benefits of storytelling my life. Much the reason why I've started blogging. Sadly I feel like I don't have time for old-fashioned diary writing in my life anymore, which is why the convenience of having a computer at work has helped me start blogging.
So one day, after an overseas trip I had taken with my parents, my bestie had come over so I could give her a low down on my trip, in particular any guy gossip that may have occurred.....?
I was still shy and old-fashioned. No I hadn't picked up while I was there, although there had been guy situations, but nothing like what she expected.
So I felt a bit of her disappointment, already in that short time of her visit. She was already "experienced" in the art of picking up, or that was how she portrayed it, probably due to her bitchy friend. So her stage of life was far advanced to mine, or that was how I was made to feel.
Anyway, I was going through my diary to jog my memory, recounting the holiday to her, when I was called for lunch. I remember this next moment clearly. We were both sitting on my bed. I left the diary on my bed. Unlocked but closed. It had one of those little locks which you needed a key to open, however the lock went around a metal hook, in order to keep the pages hidden and safe from being read. And I very clearly remember the book being slightly propped up by the hook, but it was still closed. I guess it's hard to envisage if you haven't had one of these diaries, but you get the picture.
And I walked away, leaving her alone in my room.
When I came back, 15 minutes later, I sat back down on the bed to continue my holiday recounting process. And noticed the hook part of the diary had "slipped." It was now not propping up the book's pages, the book was fully closed, with the hook slightly on the side.
This was not a hook that could move by itself. Even shuffling around on a bed could not move it. It had been moved.
Which only meant one thing. She had read my diary.
And I knew it. She was different. Quiet. Contemplative. Short answers, small conversation.
I didn't say a thing. Acted normal. I ended up walking her to her house, sussing out her body language. We said goodbye as normal. Said we'd talk again and catch up soon. And that was it.
That was the last day she was my best friend.
I thought about it that night. She had read my diary. Not only had she read it, invading my personal space and betraying my trust, but ironically, in doing so she had discovered MY betrayal of her. For within those pages I had had bursts of rage, both at her and at her friend. She would have seen this undoubtedly, on my "graffiti page" where I just wrote random thoughts and feelings as teens do on their school folders and pencil cases.
I know I could have called her. I could have confronted her about it, or I could have explained myself. But I chose to stay quiet. I didn't like the person she had become, and I was angry.
Days, weeks, months past. Not one of us made an effort to contact the other. A mutual friend of ours (well, more my friend, as she was my OTHER best friend, who went to her high school) spoke to her, and it seems the gist of it was that I wasn't calling, so why should she?
We were in a battle of who cared most to break down the stubborn barrier.
In fact, sadly, we never did make up. Our relationship remained as it was, unfinished, undefined, up-in-the-air. We hadn't even had a proper fight to warrant not speaking. I had chosen her betrayal, and also her changing personality, to just give up. She had undoubtedly chosen MY betrayal, to stand her ground. And so, a great friendship of 7 years, just disappeared.
There was minimal contact. On my birthday the following year, she contacted me to wish me a happy birthday. I said we should catch up in the next few weeks. But I never called her. And she took that as rejection. I wasn't ready, and the wounds were still fresh. I was still upset.
Then when her birthday came around, I was ready. I called to wish her a happy birthday, just as she had done for me the previous year. This time she said it: "We should catch up in the next few weeks, I'll call you."
I knew what that really meant. It was as if I could hear her inner voice speaking out to me over her audible voice, saying "stuff you, you can wait now."
And I was right, she didn't call.
But what happened years later? Something I never would've expected. A place I'd never have expected myself to be........ To be Continued
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