The Art of Friends

Fake Friends on a Blurry Picture – A Monologue in the Making

Ever since my little elementary days, I was content on being the mutual friend. That person that everyone was friends with because they were nice, and funny, but most importantly… fake.

To me, it was just a number. Every little number was a competition. Instagram followers, Facebook friends, how many people sat with me or walked with me. How many people simply remembered my name or said “hi” to me in the hallways. Everything was just a number, as if there was not a real person, who maybe just maybe, if I would have let him or her in, would have seen me as a real friend. I stopped realizing that there was a person behind every face and there were feelings and emotions and everything that makes one… human. And in the end, I just stopped making being a real friend.

Back then, I used to be the center of everything. No, I was not the prettiest or the most athletic or anything like that. I just knew how to talk, and because of that, ever since preschool, I was always the center of every argument. I was always the topic. I was always the middle man trying to sort things out… and at some point, I think I just came to the conclusion, that it really was not worth it anymore.

The question afterwards was whether anything else mattered. If anything else was really worth it. If any of it was even ever real anymore. I would contemplate endlessly whether I legitimately cared about this person, or if the things I truly said about this person were even real or true… And the saddest part – maybe the fact that no matter how hard I tried, half the time, when I asked myself, my own answer was, “I don’t know.” Because at the end of it all, I was just one more fake, blurry picture… Of a girl who was not even all that perfect anymore, not even on the outside.

I remember, the one thing that I had always wanted, was a real boyfriend and a real third wheel, but by then, it was far too late, because the question was no longer whether someone would like me for the way I was, or the way I looked, or anything I did or acted. It was, whether someone would look far enough past that blurry facade that I would put up, to be able to read me, for me. I wanted a person who would be able to finally look at me, and give me a hug when I needed one, or hold me close and just tell me that everything would be okay. That I would be okay… But with so much mist to jump through, just to reach the real me, I get why most thought it would not be worth it. Honestly, I would not have tried myself anyways.

At some point, I just realized, that there was no better me, no better friend, than the real one. The one that I needed to learn to grow and accept once again… because despite all that perfection, I knew damn well I was good at being a fake friend and fake caring, and I knew, just as much as they had let me in, I had to do the same.

Snippet from a monologue I am hoping to perform this following year.

Special thanks to my childhood best friends, 3-4~ Anita and Ivy… Will always love both of you lots. 5~ Anna and Rachel… Missing all the drama and fake treasure hunts already.

 

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