The older I get the less I believe in friendships. It’s probably a curse. Or maybe something’s just wrong with me, but I always end up being with the wrong people somehow.
The group I had in sixth grade, when I finally stepped out of the geek zone and socialized, proved to be nothing but a bunch of insecure backstabbers.
Fast forward to high school. We were seatmates. We both loved music. We had great conversations. Soon enough, our homes were open to one another. Her family loved to have me during lunchtime on weekdays and on weekends when they want a jam. It was such a great friendship that I learned to open up without fear of getting betrayed. But life loves to treat my feelings as a joke and I soon found myself in the school’s hot seat thanks to all false rumors my ‘best friend’ had spread. Since week one. I’m glad she moved to another school the following year, making my senior year more tolerable.
And then came college. I tried to stay away from people. In Communications though, that’s impossible. Not when Broadcast Communication classes require group productions. Not when Journalism classes require a class magazine. Long story short, by taking the same courses, I became close with a handful of people. And from that handful, one became my regular lunch and dinner date, wandering partner, thesis partner. The friendship was okay, although when I look back, I see how lop-sided our relationship was, how forced our conversations were, how limited our topics were, how shallow the entire affair was, in all honesty.
But if best friendship means years of being away yet never feeling as though you’re just a tangent in their life, then I might have found that in my significant other. And if that is so, I just hope the odds won’t find me unfavorable and screw things up again.
Prompt from The Daily Post