I’d told the story once of how I was too blind to see that the people I’d called my friends in high school weren’t really my friends in any sense of the word, and how it took my sister talking to me to open up my eyes and let me see what I had been living in so much self-denial about. Well, from then I left, tried to become my own person, meet other people and observe.
I was in my final year of high school and since there was compulsory boarding for that class, I moved into the dormitory and had to witness all sorts of characters and personalities. It was so easy to see how important belonging was to people.
As humans, no matter how independent we think we are, we all want at least one person that can point at us and be like. “This is my person.” We strive to find that sense of belonging somewhere, anywhere, and this is what pushes a lot of us to blindly believe that we belong with someone or a group of people because of the crumbs of attention they throw at our plate.
I was laying on my bed, reading a book. The plot of the book suddenly developed an unexpected twist and I dropped it to calm my raging emotions. Then, I noticed Miriam laying on her bed. I’ll tell you something about my corner of the room before I continue I was one of the few people that slept in mosquito nets. Many people thought it was a discomfort but I liked cause it gave me two things, freedom from malaria and the power to observe people unnoticed. The latter was handy in this case.
Miriam’s bed was opposite mine and she was putting her clothes together and basically doing a lot of stuff. Then, one of the girls sitting with her own group of friends on the adjacent bed said, “Hey Miriam, go charge my lamp for me.” No please. Nothing at all. And, Miriam went and collected the lamp meekly and moved to the charging area to charge it. I’m pretty sure I had that look on my face that said, “What the heck did I just see?”
But, I kept quiet. And decided to observe her more. When she got back, these girls sent her on multiple other errands and I was aghast. We were all in the same class. Why were they doing this? And more importantly, why was she letting them? Truth is, Miriam was one of my childhood friends but we’d grown up and somehow drifted apart but it didn’t mean I no longer cared about her so seeing that made me more than mad.
I began to understand how it felt for my sister to see me like that, even though I knew my situation wasn’t this bad. I noticed that she genuinely wanted to be friends with them but it was just what work can I give her with them. Days went and it kept going on. Then one day, I watched as Miriam was told by one of the girls to make her bed for her cause she was too lazy to do it herself and I just snapped. I called Miriam into my trusty net and sat her down.
“How’re you doing Miriam?”
“I’m fine, Tess.”
“I heard you talk about all the chores you needed to finish. Are you done with them?”
“No, they’re quite a lot but I need to do some things for someone.” There was this bleak, bitter tone to her voice that just tore at me. But I realized that I had to talk to her with wisdom. During that time, one misplaced word could open up a world of trouble so I knew I had to avoid naming names.
“You’re a wonderful person, you know that right? It’s not wrong to say no sometimes. It’s not wrong to demand courtesy or politeness. It’s not wrong to take a stand against something you don’t like. You don’t have to displease yourself so badly to belong or to fit in. You are amazing and those that see it would love you for it.”
I don’t remember exactly the other things I said but they were along these lines. But I remember using my eyes to beg her to see the things I couldn’t say. To read between the lines. And I remember that afterwards, she gave me a warm hug that told me she understood me.
It was a beautiful experience watching Miriam take a stand for herself from that time onwards. It was liberating to know that in the same way my sister had freed me, I’d freed my friend. Yeah, we reconnected from that time and she still is one of the major people in my life.
You can’t say you truly belong when you can’t be yourself or when you constantly feel sad in that environment. Belonging is peace and truth and happiness.
My entry to The Inkwell Nonfiction Prompt.
