Dear WX

It seems strange writing to you here, but I guess it’s better this way. Maybe someday you’ll come across this and read it, and maybe you won’t, and it won’t matter anyway. (Yes I admit, there’s a big part that hopes you’ll read this) But I need to say what I need to say. So this is in many ways, more for me than for you. So I hope you’ll indulge me.

I finally finished the application essays last night. It took me till 830 but it’s done. It’s funny how I’ve been putting it off for the longest time, and it was slow-going at first, but when the words came I couldn’t let it go. And I feel good after writing them; like they were the best fruits after a protracted labour. Perhaps you feel the same way too, about all the hard work you’ve done this semester, according to your tweets. (No, I’m not stalking: call it lingering concern if you want). But I think you will agree with me it feels good when you put in effort and you see it in some kind of finality.

This whole semester has been in a way like that for me – a lot of pain and effort but a lot of joy and learning and growth in the end. There’s so much I want to tell you, so much of what’s happened I want to share, only with you, because I don’t think anyone else will really, truly, somehow understand. But I guess, maybe for now, that’s not going to happen. And that’s probably and partly why I blogged about them so much, so there’s a record for me, and for you, if you ever want to read about them.

I miss you. I miss the little interactions, the extended collaborations, spending time with you while you were chasing one dream and I another. I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel terrible about the way things turned out, everytime I think about it. But I’d be a greater liar if I said I wanted things to go back to the way they were. I guess we’ve both changed a lot since then – well, I know I have. I know I may sound confused and confusing at the moment, but even though I have to face the cold hard reality that you never saw and felt things the way I saw and felt them, those moments did exist, did occur in some form, for me, at a particular phase of my life and who am I to deny them? For those moments, however short, I am grateful.

I know we’re not meant to be together – I’ve always known that, so telling you then really wasn’t about hoping some wish fulfillment fantasy comes true, but about coming to terms with the truth of how I felt. And still feel. I don’t know if we absolutely cannot maintain some kind of acquaintance now, or in the future. I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I don’t know if we will ever speak again. I don’t know if I have the courage, or the maturity, or the emotional stability even, to say goodbye when the time comes. So that’s partly why I’m writing this here, now.

But I do know why I never once considered myself your mentor, because frankly I don’t deserve to be regarded as one. It’s too much responsibility to be placed on some kind of pedestal, held as a role model and all that fuddy duddy goody two shoes stuff, when all I am is human, fallible and human. So I always saw myself helping you out as a friend. On good days now I even dare to dream that we had a friendship; on bad days I realise you probably never saw in me the same way and kind of friend as I saw in you. But that’s ok too, because life’s too short to quibble and we all have to move on and grow and be the light in someone else’s lives. So there’s a part in me, of me, that still naively hopes, that we’ll be friends the way I want us to be. But there’s also the part which acknowledges the reality, and wants to leave it be. And finally, there’s a part which says, I don’t know what the future brings.

So that’s it. That’s basically what I was, am and will say if we ever had the conversation that I always wanted to have with you after telling you the truth. I once wished you all the happiness in the world. I still do.

This, then, is for all those times I wanted to say more than any superficial greetings could. For all those dinners and coffees and edits on the essays. For the screening at SMU. For what could have been. And can still be.

Be happy.


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