Chapter 3: Real friendships versus Fake friendships from Because Confessions Are Overrated . . .

What’s a real friend? What’s a fake friend? Honestly, these days, I don’t know. Sometimes, I think this person is okay, and that we’re just casual friends, yet somehow, I realize that that person doesn’t even treat me as a friend or maybe, even like me. That makes me think . . . did I do something wrong to enrage that person or was I stupid to think that we were even friends?

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Chapter 2: Failure from Because Confessions are Overrated . . .

I asked a friend if she would have liked to go to the future and skip this part of her life. She told me that she just wanted her future self to come to the present to tell her that everything will be okay.

Sometimes, we don’t need someone to comfort us. We just need to tell ourselves that everything will be fine. We just need to believe in ourselves and keep pressing forward.

I have always liked this line from Gone with the Wind: “Tomorrow is another day.”

I do like to add that you must also know how to seize tomorrow. Wishful thinking will get you nowhere.

Speaking of wishful thinking, I think I must acknowledge that I have had my share of childhood dreams. Boy, I’m sounding rather old now for my age . . . which I will not reveal for my own sake. My mother said that my dream was to be a bride every day. Now, all I could think of when I heard that was polygamy. Yes, how notorious for a child to be married to different husbands every day. I honestly don’t remember saying that that was my dream, and I laugh at it now. 

I can’t imagine myself getting married any time soon. In fact, I might not even be married. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these days and all I can say is that marriage is scary. Maybe, it’s because I’ve seen too many failed marriages on TV and in real life. I hear complaints from the bride and the groom. I also feel pressure. I’m not the sort to date casually, so there’s that huge anticipation of who I’d settle with. I can just imagine my parents wanting to know everything about that “special guy”. Knowing myself, I don’t like to fail. Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t treat marriage like a test. You either fail it or pass it, but I can’t help feeling that I should not disappoint.

Now, that’s one side of failure that I feel. Going back to childhood dreams, I believe that I used to choose the same dream as a friend’s or my sibling’s. If my friend said she wanted to be a vet, then I agreed that I wanted to be one too. When my sister said that she wanted to be a doctor, I secretly agreed to become one as well. Looking back, I don’t think I ever had those dreams. I’m not even sure what I want to be nowadays. 

Sure, I like to write, but I don’t dream to be a writer. I know I’m not some talented writer, so publishing a book is more like something to complete on my bucket list. Writing is also more like therapy to me. In real life, I don’t have that much to say, despite the fact that I have tons of thoughts running through my head. Like my mother says, “I don’t even know what you’re thinking.”

Oh, and I’d rather that stuck that way. I don’t like people invading my thoughts. Mind rape? Yuck.

Right now, I guess what I want to know is what I can do with my skills. Ah yes, if you’re cruel, you’d pop that question, “What skills?” 

I would surely say, “Gee, thanks a lot. I totally appreciate your honesty.”

I do have to say though that I’m not even sure what skills I have. I’ve done too many personality tests that I know how to answer those questions to pick the result I want or think is the best. Not good!

I do have to also admit that sometimes I feel that those that are rewarded do not meet up to the rewards. They are either blessed with good luck or somehow get whatever they wish without doing much. 

Don’t get me started about people skills or what not. I have the worst luck with first impressions. People misinterpret my face in a matter of seconds. They start thinking I’m mean or unapproachable because I don’t give them the smile they want. Just because I don’t smile for you does not mean that I’m a scary person. Sigh. Unfortunately, I was never blessed with a gentle looking face. My stare has been defined as: “I’m going to rip you to pieces. Now get away from me, you imbecile.”

Now that’s another failure.

Then there are the other failures that are unexpected or because of some events that set me back. That’s when I start hating my life. I spend a day pretty much doing nothing except some things I like. I put off my homework. I purposely buy a drink to treat myself. I have a thing with trying out all the beverages there are in the world.

At the end of the day, I just pick myself up and move on. People say you’re supposed to learn from your failures. That’s true yet untrue. Sometimes, you can’t stop those things from making you fail, like group projects. You try your best to do your part, but your teammates give you grief in different ways whether it be skills that are not up to your standards or just downright laziness. Learn from your failures if you can. You’re not always at fault. 

You just have to learn to accept failure.

For me, that’s hard. That, I would say, would be my greatest weakness.

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Chapter 1: Unthinkable Friendship from Because Confessions are Overrated . . .

I think everyone has a friend who we never thought would be our friend until of course, that person became a friend of ours. I know just the friend to introduce. Let us know him as you.

You and I met in high school. You were popular while I was . . . 

No, I was not bullied or alienated by my classmates. I just hung out with different people, who were interested in other subjects. Your group was more interested in partying or starting relationships. My group preferred to talk about current events or our school subjects.

When I think of how we met, I still laugh. We had been forced to work in a group project together along with another friend of mine. I thought I was unlucky to be with you. You were known as a slacker. You had the look of a slacker: tall, shrugged shoulders, and a smirk. You had the voice of a slacker, always seemingly nonchalant. Funnily, you proved to be a hard worker, except you had trouble with your work. I still had to take over your job.

We stayed up all night to finish that project. You offered to stay online. You said you felt bad for letting me do all the work. I told you that you deserved to stay online for your incompetency. You just laughed. 

I don’t remember what happened next. I have lost track of who talked with whom first, but I do know that we became friends online. You and I would talk every day. We talked about anything, from school to family. I always seemed to ask you some question and you would always answer.

Ironically, you and I never spoke at school. Now that I think of it, we never even greeted each other at school. They say high school rules don’t matter, but they still do. Our groups were too different. Your friends would never be my friends and mine would never become yours. But, somehow . . . we could be friends.

I do not think we ever told anyone of our friendship until near graduation. You should have seen the look on my friends’ faces. They all had the same questions. I talked with you? Aren’t you a slacker? Aren’t you part of that group? Aren’t you the sort to party? How did I even become friends with you? Why would I?

Yes, why would I? I jokingly asked you that question once. It was a joke, but I still wondered. I just thought how silly people were to judge you, but then . . . I had judged you too. I never told you or maybe I did tell you what my first impressions of you were like. You said it didn’t matter and that you didn’t care. 

In fact, you always had that phrase hanging from your mouth: I don’t care. Somehow, I know that you care. You only use it to shrug off, to change the subject. 

I sometimes wonder how our friendship worked. When I think harder, I believe I talk more than you. You tend to listen. I am free to say whatever I want because of that phrase of yours. You accept whatever I say. Maybe, because you do not care, but I do not mind either. Are you an outlet then? An outlet for my bottled emotions? 

Sometimes, you do consult me. I try my best to offer my input. You tell me about your issues with your girlfriend. Then, it is my turn to listen and to keep your secrets. I think that is our system. I know you will not blab and you know that I will not talk. 

Yes, we only met once outside of school.

I thought that we could celebrate the fact that we had finished our exams for high school. You were a slacker this time. I did all the planning for this meeting. You said that it was up to me. Everything. 

I believed it rained that day. I had an umbrella, yet you did not. No, we did not share an umbrella. You were too tall and are still too tall. A classmate had walked by us. She had that same look as my friends. Awkward.

I tried to keep the atmosphere light, and so you laughed at my silliness. I forgot what I did. I probably could not close my umbrella properly. I still have that problem now.

We walked to the mall and you treated me to lunch. I had made you feel guilty, and so you offered to treat me food. I felt bad, so I picked something cheap off of the menu. I even went without a drink.

You saw me eyeing your tea. You offered me a sip before you took the first gulp. I tried a tiny sip only to find it to be too bitter. You said you did not add sugar. I said I needed two packs. So, I went back to water.

We talked and talked. I forget what we said. Dresses? I believed there was word of graduation dresses. Maybe the future too? I forget now.

The rain continued to pour. You wanted a ride home and so did I. You phoned your best friend to come. He came and dropped me off at my house and then drove off with you. I tried to forget the awkwardness in the car. I had stayed silent throughout the ride. Oddly, there had been nothing to say between the three of us.

When we graduated, I chose to go to another university away from home. You decided to stay home except you had other plans. You wanted to return to your birth country to be a doctor. I do not remember what happened. I never knew what your plans were until you suddenly told me one day. “Did I ever tell you . . .”

You liked using that question too and my response would always be the same. “No, you never told me. You never tell me the important things!”

Then, you would go on with your news. This news did not shock me. I always thought you would leave. You were the one stunned to find me thinking that you would go away. I said it was my intuition. My intuition proved to be correct. 

You left for your country several months later. You had been accepted to a well-known university. Your dreams were on their way to become true while mine were still in shambles. I never told you that I envied your success. I did say congratulations. I was happy for you. I really was, yet sometimes, I would think if I had followed your route, would my life be easier? Would my dreams be closer? 

Believe it or not, we still talked practically every day despite the time zone difference. You’re one of the few that I will say has not changed much after university. You’re still the same old you. 

I believed we became closer. You even sent me a card. I did not know of your plan until you asked me if I had gotten anything. I had been confused until I checked my mail. There was a card from you. Your message was short and you apologized for being bad at writing letters. I just laughed, knowing that you were always horrible at doing these things.

I sent a card to you too. I wrote much, much more than you. I probably wrote whatever I was thinking down. Frankly, I don’t remember. I do remember saying that I hope in the future, we would stay the same. We would still be friends. 

Now, I never thought of this, but apparently people around us thought we were dating. I had no idea that our friendship was perceived that way until my friend’s friend had asked my friend of our relationship. I never knew talking to someone every day online was considered unusual. Your friends thought I was the one that liked you. Well, they thought wrong. I did not like you in that way, but you do mean a lot to me. You are like family to me.

One day, I saw your status online. You were wondering what it would be like if we were together. I never thought that was directed at me and maybe it wasn’t, but after I realized what your friends had thought, I thought it was possible that you were asking yourself and myself.

I forgot to mention that I had reflected on my online messaging habits. I was the sort that liked to message whenever I felt I needed to say something to someone. A frequent messenger. Then, I worried if I was sending the wrong messages to people. If talking every day was considered to be something that girls in love did, then how many boys thought I was in love with them? I asked you that question. You just laughed and then told me not to change. 

“Who cares about what others think?” you argued.

That was true. I never cared about what others thought of our friendship because I knew what you were like and you knew what I was like.  

You continued to say that I had never obstructed your life, so it was fine. You didn’t care or rather, you didn’t mind. It was fine to remain like this.

If I were to answer that question of yours, then I would say that the thought of being together did cross my mind once.  But . . . I knew that I would rather stay like this. I would rather keep our beautiful friendship and when we actually meet in person again, I would like to carry on one of our conversations over lunch or maybe dinner. It’s your pick this time. 

I would also like to say, “Thank you.”

Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for being you, and even if you were to change or we were to grow older and lose contact with one another, I would still like to thank you again for being my friend at one point in my life.

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Because Confessions are Overrated . . .

I always wondered what it would be like to write an autobiography, so I thought I would give it a try. I have thought of the title of my autobiography. My life? My thoughts? My words? I thought of the overused "Confessions of a . . ." Then, I thought I would go with: "Because Confessions are Overrated . . ."

I don't think I'm confessing anything. I'm just stating my thoughts or whatever about my life. Nothing to hide, nothing to fear.

So, I guess . . . let's start with my introduction.

Introduction

I am never good with introductions. Whenever someone asks me to talk a bit about myself, I would take too long to answer. Where would I begin? With my birth? With my favourite colours or perhaps, my hobbies? Oh no, maybe they would like to know about my skills? Did I even have any? What about my personality traits? 

Funny? Am I really funny or is that just my misconception? 

In the end, I would settle with the generic response: “My name is Jubie.”

By now, you must have realized that this is a pseudonym. Who would even insert a real name in a novel?

This is no novel though. This must be a recording of my memories, my precious, youthful thoughts. Ah yes, I have decided so share whatever insight I might have had in my life.

A chronology of my life.

Now, let us skip the small talk and go to the important stuff.

But the question is again . . . where to start?

Good luck,

Jubie (cubierock11)

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