Q

We were 7 when we first met, our beginning uncomfortably reminiscent of those cheesy playground romances. It feels like centuries ago, in another life, but everything remains vivid – the exact location you sat (front row, third column from the far end, the smooth concrete speckled with chalk dust and whirling debris, the diffuse duskiness that always permeated our classrooms before we moved into the new campus.

At that time, you were known as 木头人, ingeniously knighted by our Chinese teacher. Already, that signature helmet of unruly hair nestled disobediently on your head, obscuring the view of everyone sitting behind you. Already, you were prone to rubbing your nose – a gesture we would use over and over in our impressions of you in years to come. Already, all that characterizes you were so salient: your sloth-like, stoic stillness; your complete inability to speak mandarin; your refusal to adhere to the norm and sit on the floor when others did (forever 木头人 on that chair). Already, you were so startlingly special.

I guess what makes me so fundamentally Qing was also burgeoning underneath. I’ve always felt drawn to strange people. They are a breed that fascinated and attracted me. But I was a child, and special meant different than unique. So before I could comprehend my fascination, I labelled it as ‘vague annoyance’. This isn’t an excuse for my rather mean-spirited interactions with you – not that I’ve ever tried finding an excuse for them, HAHAHAHA. The point is: I was rather mean.

I just flatly refused to acknowledge that you captured my attention so frequently because I wanted to understand your mind that you so meticulously kept under that cloud of hair. No, you just obstinately highlighted yourself in my periphery ’cause of how annoyingly obtuse you were. We always came back to this anecdote when describing our earlier years of hostility:

You were an avid sketcher back then, doodling a bunch of manga-esque characters on your desk. Admittedly, I was impressed. A little envious, even. A part of me wanted to express this admiration, because good art should always be validated (even 7 year old me was aware of that, yes); the other, overwhelmingly prideful part told me NO! I can’t bow down and defer to the Wood Head Human.

So in this struggle between admiration and pride, I wrangled out a flippant “Wow, your drawings very nice hor.” It came out much more sarcastic than I intended to, but “Hey! I got the message across!” I thought smugly.

I was a snotty little gnat and I’m sure you thought of me as no less than that. Snottiness and wooden-ness aside, we somehow ended up as desk partners in Primary 2. This was where our friendship truly began.

And like a painful 100-episode Taiwanese drama, to be continued >

Dear Cel,

It’s been a week since you’ve entered the convent, less than 2 months since you told me you might become a nun in Spain, a decade of being BFFs, and 16 years since we first met in class.

I hope you understand my inconsistent and sometimes distant responses to your decision. On one hand, i’m so happy for you. To see your friend discover – with such certainty – what they truly want in life, is an absolute joy. It’s easy to be infected by the peace and contentment so evident in your being when we do meet – it’s easy to express the parts of me that’s rejoicing with you about your upcoming nun-hood.

On the other hand. I’m still waiting for the realization to sink in. Qing’s stages of grief can be simplified to four phases: awkward coping with humor > i am gonna become a robot and distance myself all my feelings > the world comes crashing down > i am completely chill now. At this point we’re somewhere smack in the middle of awkward humor: our group chats are awash with nun jibes, we deliberately miss the point and poke at the most irrelevant points to avoid the huge elephant that is your eventual departure.

At this point, i’m coming to terms with the fact that i can (and will always) have conflicting emotions about this. Firstly, you’re in love! For years i’ve dreamed of you finding The One – me interrogating him and intimidating him and all of us having family BBQs and playing boardgames together or whatever. You have found The One, but in typical Mugs style, we just refuse to lead a life in the normative route. He just has to be a spiritual messiah. Trust you to ruin my plans of BBQs and boardgames like that.

I’m just kidding. That was the awkward humor surfacing. What really mattered, although i’ve not had a reason to think this previously, is that you are truly in love and are truly loved; that you’ll be happy and complete in your marriage. You are, and i would rather this than you settling for anyone who’s not your true love, just to complete my BBQ plans in the physical plane.

Yet you’ll also be gone. There won’t be Whatsapp, emails, Skype. All my projections of the future – you a weepy mess at my wedding; being an annoyingly enthusiastic auntie at my first childbirth; playing D&D as 80 year old grandmas together – have to be readjusted. Those are the toughest moments for me. A friendship i’ve taken for granted so simply plucked out of my life.

(Just so you know i’ve devised alternate plans for that. I’ll be printing a cardboard cut-out of you as a stand-in bridesmaid at my wedding.)

That this is your choice makes it both harder and a relief. At times i feel betrayed. That you’ve gone all hoes over bros and decided to leave all of us behind to pursue your true love. I’m not gonna pangseh the mugs for any dude, and i know this because i’ve gone head-to-head with a love who continuously threatened our friendships. But i have to accept that your love is transcendent, your partner is admittedly above everything else in your life. It’s all pretty difficult to swallow but i’m trying.

Despite that, it’s a relief to know that you’re alive, you’re in great joy, and that we’ll part still as BFFs and hold each other in our hearts all that cheesy crap, you know.

I’m here because writing is how i cope best.

This will be a log of me coming to terms with your leaving. And to immortalize the years and years of memories i have of you, with you. From when you were a 木头人 to (all my credit) the beautiful human being you are today underneath that immovable block of wood.

Cel, you still have a few months left with internet. Or simply contact with us in your previous life. So i’m gonna lay it all our here while i still have the chance.

Love,
Qing