Confession

I have only wished to live normally ever since I was small. Probably because I don't consider myself "normal" by any means. I grew up with friends that were lovingly surrounded by their family, constantly loved and paid attention to by their parents, especially.

It's funny, now that I think about it, the memories that have stuck to me are mostly sad. I wonder if that's because most of my childhood was filled with that particular emotion. Sadness and loneliness, to be exact.

We were a small group of girls. Very close friends. Practically sisters.

Vividly, I remember being driven to the mall by one of my close girlfriend's parents. I sat in the back seat and watched my friend's dad tease his daughter lovingly, and my friend blushing in embarrassment. "Daaad!" she yelled out, swatting his hand away as he tried to pinch her cheeks. But I knew she appreciated the attention. I remember smiling, yet feeling a deep pang of loneliness.

I remember the love my other girlfriend got from her parents. They spoiled her. We went to their beach house and went to an island that her parents rented for her. Just for her birthday. I remember the warmth as they teased her and as they laughed together at the dinner table. And I remember the harsh pang I felt as I watched, a smile plastered on my face.

I remember coming over a lot to my other girlfriend's house. It was just her and her mother. But they were inseparable. Though we were a tight-knit of friends, I could tell that my friend cherished her mom beyond anybody else. And her mother loved her daughter more than anything else as well.

The worse times that I felt that emptiness inside me resound was when I was with them. Their relationship was so simple, yet so strong. They were satisfied with each other, enjoying each others company as they watched TV, movies, ate out at dinner, picked up a coffee at Starbucks, went out shopping, etc. They told each other everything. They were the best of friends.

I always tried really hard not to cry when I felt that loneliness ache. The only other times I cried because of it were the moments when it really hit me how alone I was.

Every year, the music department holds an annual concert and all music departments are involved. Since I was in third grade, I was involved in it because I was part of the orchestra. In 7th grade, I quit the orchestra, and in my sophomore year, I joined the choir.

Ever since 3rd grade, I remember practicing everyday for the rehearsal. Getting excused from classes to go to practice, dressing up, walking in and out of the stage, practicing bows, making sure I was in the right place at the right time on and off stage. We were perfecting it. Not for us, but for the audience--for friends and especially for the family that came to support us. All that hard work and effort was for them.

But every year, on the day of the performance, I remember feeling proud of myself at my performance. And after the whole concert has ended, everybody rushes off stage to find their families. I remember walking off stage hesitantly, unsure of whether anyone even came to see me. I remember feeling scared yet trying to be hopeful as I searched through the sea of smiling faces, and hugs, and flashes. I would walk back and forth everywhere. Maybe they went to the food table? Maybe they were by the changing rooms? Maybe they were by the entrance to the theater? And I remember feeling the drop in my stomach and a stab in my chest as the slow and cold realization creeps in my heart -- nobody came for me.

I remember walking out back to the dressing room and changing quietly, building a dam in my heart to stop the coming flood of emotion. Despite that, hope kept sparking in that deep emptiness. Maybe they're late and they'll still come to pick me up so we can have dinner out? And I remember walking out into the cold, dark night, carrying my violin case and my dress and walking to the parking lot, hoping at least that they remembered to send the driver to pick me up. I remember how my eyes would burn as tears welled up. And I remember wiping them quickly and plastering on a smile as I waved good-bye to friends who walked away hand-in-hand with their parents. I remember standing alone in the parking lot, watching as it emptied, waiting, and waiting. And I remember walking over to the front gate to the guard's office, pulling up my pride, putting on a fake smile, and asking to use her phone. I remember calling my house and hearing nobody pick up. And after the second try, they finally say that I should wait outside the gate.

And I remember standing out front on the sidewalk with my violin case and clothes, in 3rd grade until sophomore year, and feeling absolutely nothing for everything.

And the on the rare occasion that somebody came, it was never a happy reunion. There were no proud smiles, or hugs, or posing for pictures. There was only a pat on the back and a rush to get home.

Even as I write this now, I feel a dull pang as old wounds resurface.

I wish I could tell someone all of this. I have tried to tell my mom about this. But all in vain. She is so caught up between her own problems, my brothers, and the past. Anything but me. And her excuse is because I'm stronger than my brothers, and that's why she has to pay more attention to them.

Still now, I feel alone. The people that should have loved me and cared for me and nurtured me have hardly ever been there. And until now, they've put me in a bad position, all for their sake. And once again, they're planning on abandoning me.

After years of pain, sadness, and loneliness, I should be used to it. But my heart never seems to cooperate. Instead, it tries to fill the void with useless things like boys, fiction, stories, etc. None of which ever work.