my friends found out I talk about them on the internet
[Redacted] left me yesterday.
Just as I got her back, she slips through my fingertips. She’s a slippery one; she gets it from her dad, who isn’t really her dad, because they only met last year, but he’s her dad. Anyways. Did our rituals of escaping the cold city air, ordering food from two separate places because she’s healthy and I’m picky. Sat in a greasy booth, salt-covered table as we filled our stomachs with warmth. If life had a meaning, it would be this. Doing our silly rituals to keep ourselves warm and sane.
Talked about everything as though we were the only two people in the building, in the world, even. Work, relationships, travel, writing. Showed [Redacted] my blog for the first time, and she immediately needed to see where I’ve mentioned her in these journal entries of mine. It’s cute. The human need to be remembered and immortalised. [Redacted] said she likes my writing and always wanted an older sister. I told her I always wanted a younger sister. I guess there’s something there.
Laughed when I found out [Redacted] and [Redacted 2] used to have a thing for each other. Back when we all first met in that clock tower in the Capital a few years ago. Apparently, it was used as a watchtower during one of the many rebellions on our little island. There’s a universe out there where [Redacted] and [Redacted 2] confessed to each other and started dating. It’s funny, but I’m glad I’m not in that universe. Back when [Redacted] natural hair colour was blue, and my own hair was chopped off by an overtired barber, evidence of my identity crisis. They would’ve looked good together, aesthetically, the blue and red hair. It never would’ve worked, though. I miss our old clock tower sometimes. Our old rituals. [Redacted 2] and I would ditch class every other Tuesday only to end up in a Spoons. Sometimes I’d miss my bus home so [Redacted 3], and I could go on a Boba tea date at our favourite little Boba place. We’d all meet up at an overpriced café every morning, pretending we were doing something important and could afford the drinks we so desperately clung onto. [Redacted 3] has only ever known the Capital, so she’d bring us to every museum. Having already been there hundreds of times, she became our personal tour guide. Every Thursday, our history teacher would bring in a tin of biscuits just for us, take everyone’s orders and send two of us to the slightly-less-overpriced café next door. Most of our orders were hot chocolate, and I think that’s proof that we were young, no? I think that time was my first taste of independence. It’s also where I met [Redacted]. If you had told us back then that we’d go to the same college together on the other side of the country, I think we would have laughed in your face.
[Redacted] left me. Made my way up the Quay to my cosy college apartment, determined to start working before my housemates came back from their adventure. Didn’t happen, though, as [Redacted 4] kidnapped me in her car. If [Redacted 4] really was a kidnapper, I would 100% develop Stockholm syndrome. Walked around my college at night, spending over two hours just walking in the dark. I love my little walks with [Redacted 4]. Talked about literally everything because apparently all I do is talk. [Redacted 4] has known about my writing for a while. On our walk, she said how she likes to try to figure out who I’m talking to. It’s like a game for those who know me. She also said she loved reading my writing despite the fact that she doesn’t like reading in general, and that was the biggest compliment I have gotten. Tucked it away and stored it in my heart. Two people in under ten hours mentioning my writing and speaking so highly of it was something I hadn’t experienced before. Felt all floaty and giggling.
[Redacted 4] and I joined [Redacted 5] in [Redacted 6] cosy college apartment around midnight. I always love going up to [Redacted 6] apartment because it’s always so cosy. Cool lighting, clean, art postered all over the walls and bedroom doors. Most importantly, the fact that [Redacted 6] is there.
Today, as I was cleaning my wardrobe, [Redacted 7] knocked on my bedroom floor. Asking if I am okay after reading my New Year’s blog post, got all confused because what-do-you-mean. Hugged her, promising I am okay and she doesn’t have to worry. She made sure I’d tell any of them if I wasn’t okay, saying reading that entry felt like rushing to read someone’s diary before they come back. Couldn’t exactly confess to her in the doorway of my messy room, and miffy PJ bottoms, how much I’d spill out my own guts and rip out my heart as an offering for everyone I live with now. Kind of weird to think any of them would think I am not okay when they made me the luckiest girl in the world.
Very cute of my mates to read my stuff. Love them all or whatever.