APART FROM MY AWAKENING
I should have known it was the little gestures that would eventually push me to confess. My intention was never to reveal to you so soon my entirely consuming feelings. But I had gotten ahead of myself again, imagining the curls I would finally get to wrap around my fingers, lazily playing with them as we sat by the edge of the pool. I pictured the equilibrium problems we would solve together in chemistry classes, hidden in the nook at the back of the library, an air of muffled laughs and murmurs. I fantasized about the meals we would share in your forest-green kitchen, baking cookies resembling heart thumbprints. And, when Thanksgiving would come (your favorite holiday), I would start playing festive music on your record player and watch you dance from a distance, in your silly manner that I fell for.
Somehow, I found myself at your doorstep at 6:27 pm on March 30th, instead of August 27th, the day before I would be leaving for college. The sunlight glowed bright and brave that day, gleaming down on me, either in yearning anticipation or as a warning to leave. In my plum-purple sweater (your favorite color) and loose linen pants that swayed as I walked, I wandered outside your house, that viscous ounce of hope from childhood emerging once again and entirely taking over me. I fully believed that after today, our lives would transform: spending the coming summer days tangled up with one another.
I confessed my love to you as if it hadn’t entirely consumed me for the past two years, remaining in such close proximity as a friend. I admitted that over time, my simple feelings for you grew deeper, and your kindness is what I fell for first. I ended my profession with something lighter, but far from the truth. I’m not expecting a response. I simply want to release what has weighed on me for so long.
I watched as your face distorted from worry, to surprise, finally resting on a blank stare. With a hug, you promised you'd think about it. That was enough for me to continue longing.
As I was walking into school two weeks later—the day after my 18th birthday—your little sister ran up to me, handing me a birthday present from you. I trembled in anticipation the entire day, knowing that opening the gift would be my first task when I arrived home.
You had annotated a book for me. It was the first Twilight novel—the book that we had first debated about in 8th grade, filled with sticky notes shaded green and purple. I reminisced on our differing opinions on who Bella’s soulmate was, but that we agreed the books greatly prevailed over the movies. Inside, you had delicately embedded a note. Carefully decorating the outlines with different prints of duct tape, attaching collages of my favorite singers and pictures of us together, I was disregarding your artistry for your true words.
In the letter, there was not a mention of what had transpired between us. Instead, your hollow words were filled with mentions of cherishing our friendship, not wanting any parts of us to change. I was one of your best friends, and you hoped that when I left for college, we would remain the same—someone she could turn to no matter the circumstances.
Sometimes, no answer is an answer alone.
My grief process was like a tunnel during rush-hour—I heard and saw nothing and everything. Every moment that passed in the following months flew past me in flashes, and on occasion, when the aching slowed, I would be reminded of every minute detail of that night—from the way her hair was parted to the panicking pacing of my feet.
The part that pained me the most about our parting was that I had never loved someone like her before, and never so strongly. Two years into our friendship, I found myself beginning to stare lovingly at her, my hands clamming up when our fingers brushed. When I was around her, my aura immediately brightened, everything else becoming small and wispy.
The confrontation I had with myself about my feelings (navigating raw guilt like I wasn’t allowed to love her) plagued me for months. It was only recently that I had come to terms with myself and my identity, and she was the one who had guided me.
She was my awakening in more ways than one. Experiencing those first daunting sentiments because of her, while having them unreciprocated felt like not only losing what we had, but I had let the most vulnerable part of myself shatter beyond my control.
When we’d pass each other in the halls afterward, her kindness was unwavering: she’d wave at me with a tender smile. She spoke to me softly during class, and her patience, what I fell for second, served as a reminder of her warmth.
But, I must confess something to myself too: I don’t think I’ll ever get over her. Does anyone ever move past their first? In more ways than one, the endless love she showered me with, teaching me to be empathetic and optimistic, laughing even when our words fell short, will always remain with me. Even now, her love for music influences me as I listen to her curated Spotify playlists for me softly through my headphones.
She taught me that the world is bigger than what is offered in the small town of Ohio. Bubblegum-shaped tears shone in her eyes when I told her I was going to college 11 hours away. As we hugged for the last time, I prayed that when I came back, one of us would have changed.
I hope that when I return, we can grab egg bagels and cinnamon muffins together again—but not like before. I hope that my perspective will be widened enough to discover that the world is always bigger, better, and fuller than I could have imagined, and that with time, my feelings for her will have faded to something of fondness and awe for her lessons for me.
AUTHOR: Gabi Yuan
ARTIST: Lena He