Dedicated to that one special person who will always have a place in my heart.
----------------
One time when I was little, I made a friend in kindergarten. At first I was attracted to be her friend because I saw she had a Mulan backpack—Mulan was my favorite movie back then, around the time it first came out. So we became friends, and not only did we have a common interest in that Disney movie, but also many other things. As children, we became friends faster than we would have if we met later. We did all the things children would do—learn how to play hula-hoops and jump ropes and we went to each other’s houses—it was all memorable times. I even knew where her candy drawer was.
She was my first best friend.
Once, I got mad at her in first grade because I thought she wanted to hang out with one of her other friends instead of me. I didn’t know who that other girl was, I was just jealous she knew my friend longer and better. I was ignoring them for a few days, and in the end, the other girl became one of my best friends, too.
In second grade, she had to leave to go to her home country—halfway across the globe. She was allowed to come over as much as she wanted in the weeks before she left. We spent as much time as we could together, but not enough.
In the middle of the school year, she left. I was really sad. “Sad” can’t even describe what I felt back then. I was heartbroken, constantly crying, I had lost my first and greatest best friend, physically. We had emails, but back then was when I had no clue how to use it, so we had lost contact for a while. Until she mailed me a card, and we kept mailing each other, till we had a greater grasp of email and better understanding of the Internet. Every now and then, we would stop emailing each other, and then I would become depressed again. And then when I receive that long-awaited reply from my friend, I would light up like a candle. We would even get up early or stay up late to talk, through new-age technology, but it was hard though, because of the time difference.
We had eight years. She told me before she left in second grade, she said eight years. Eight years till she could come back to America, eight years till she could some home. I thought I couldn’t wait eight years—I wanted her to come home sooner. I didn’t know it back then, but I would wait. Wait for eight years, nine years, ten years—however long it took for her to come back.
Once, only once, did my friend come back, but only for a little. She was on her way to Ohio to visit a sick relative, and she visited me. I was so happy! I was about ten years old, give or take, around that time. I tackled her; we gave each other the biggest hugs, till it hurt. I actually jumped when I saw she was home, even for a little. I had heard before that she was coming, but I thought she wouldn’t because it was supposed to be weeks before when she actually came, and I had given up; and now I know I had given up too soon. We talked, played, got to be little kids again for a time, and when she left, she left with a precious toy I gave her.
Every time I read one of her emails, I get all giddy like a little kid sometimes, other times I feel like reaching out, and I can talk to her about anything, no matter how random or serious. We talk over email like girlfriends do in high school, about out problems, what’s going on, or something totally random; and I’m always begging her to come back almost every time I type to her. We talk about what we would do when she comes back too—live life together; get jobs together, go to school together, and everything we can think of.
It’s been nearly eight years now—eight years is almost up, and then she’ll be home for good. Then we can do everything we’ve planned! But over email, I’ve learned, I’ll have to wait a little longer: about two years longer. It doesn’t matter; I’ll wait for her. I miss her, but I’ll wait for her no matter what—that’s what friends are for. I’ll even wait forever for her return. I’ll wait for eternity for our reunion.
I’d do anything for her, because I love her. I know in some other lifetime, we’d be friends there too. She’s my best friend, my sister; she’s my family.
One time when I was little, I made a friend in kindergarten. At first I was attracted to be her friend because I saw she had a Mulan backpack—Mulan was my favorite movie back then, around the time it first came out. So we became friends, and not only did we have a common interest in that Disney movie, but also many other things. As children, we became friends faster than we would have if we met later. We did all the things children would do—learn how to play hula-hoops and jump ropes and we went to each other’s houses—it was all memorable times. I even knew where her candy drawer was.
She was my first best friend.
Once, I got mad at her in first grade because I thought she wanted to hang out with one of her other friends instead of me. I didn’t know who that other girl was, I was just jealous she knew my friend longer and better. I was ignoring them for a few days, and in the end, the other girl became one of my best friends, too.
In second grade, she had to leave to go to her home country—halfway across the globe. She was allowed to come over as much as she wanted in the weeks before she left. We spent as much time as we could together, but not enough.
In the middle of the school year, she left. I was really sad. “Sad” can’t even describe what I felt back then. I was heartbroken, constantly crying, I had lost my first and greatest best friend, physically. We had emails, but back then was when I had no clue how to use it, so we had lost contact for a while. Until she mailed me a card, and we kept mailing each other, till we had a greater grasp of email and better understanding of the Internet. Every now and then, we would stop emailing each other, and then I would become depressed again. And then when I receive that long-awaited reply from my friend, I would light up like a candle. We would even get up early or stay up late to talk, through new-age technology, but it was hard though, because of the time difference.
We had eight years. She told me before she left in second grade, she said eight years. Eight years till she could come back to America, eight years till she could some home. I thought I couldn’t wait eight years—I wanted her to come home sooner. I didn’t know it back then, but I would wait. Wait for eight years, nine years, ten years—however long it took for her to come back.
Once, only once, did my friend come back, but only for a little. She was on her way to Ohio to visit a sick relative, and she visited me. I was so happy! I was about ten years old, give or take, around that time. I tackled her; we gave each other the biggest hugs, till it hurt. I actually jumped when I saw she was home, even for a little. I had heard before that she was coming, but I thought she wouldn’t because it was supposed to be weeks before when she actually came, and I had given up; and now I know I had given up too soon. We talked, played, got to be little kids again for a time, and when she left, she left with a precious toy I gave her.
Every time I read one of her emails, I get all giddy like a little kid sometimes, other times I feel like reaching out, and I can talk to her about anything, no matter how random or serious. We talk over email like girlfriends do in high school, about out problems, what’s going on, or something totally random; and I’m always begging her to come back almost every time I type to her. We talk about what we would do when she comes back too—live life together; get jobs together, go to school together, and everything we can think of.
It’s been nearly eight years now—eight years is almost up, and then she’ll be home for good. Then we can do everything we’ve planned! But over email, I’ve learned, I’ll have to wait a little longer: about two years longer. It doesn’t matter; I’ll wait for her. I miss her, but I’ll wait for her no matter what—that’s what friends are for. I’ll even wait forever for her return. I’ll wait for eternity for our reunion.
I’d do anything for her, because I love her. I know in some other lifetime, we’d be friends there too. She’s my best friend, my sister; she’s my family.
No comments:
Post a Comment