letters to the lost

to my first 'best friend'

tw: children being racist??

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....sometimes I wonder why you hated me so much.

You were so bitter. I could never put words to what I felt from you back then, because I was five, and had the vocabulary of a peppermint, but I can say it now. You were so bitter.

I don't know what I did to you, but you loathed me.

You kept me with you only as an emotional, mental, and sometimes even physical punching bag. You took out the stresses from home on me. And I can't entirely blame you. You were a kid too.

I wonder if it ever occurred to you how much you hurt me. How much you made me cry. How every bus ride to and fro from school sucked just because I had to sit next to you. I was always in the wrong: the liar, the thief, the cheater. I was scared to play stupid children's games with you because I had no idea when your mood would swing, when you would get angry. I was scared to cut you off because beside you was the only 'safe' place I could sit without falling into the territory of all the scary middleschoolers waiting to tear into me and bully me if I sat in their vicinity even by accident. I had to sit next to you, otherwise it wouldn't just be one person tormenting me, it'd be a whole gang of big, terrifying kids.

If you decided to severe ties with me on the ride to school in the morning, the whole school day I'd spend in fear and terror, scared out of my mind at the thought of having to find a different seat and deal with my whole legion of bullies. I'd beg you to forgive me whenever I saw you, because I was so frightened of being stranded, and because you were a kid and kids are petty, you'd torment me only more.

Again, ridiculous now that I think back on it, but the way you'd say "I'll think about it," still makes me die a little on the inside. Uncertainty would eat away at me from the inside the whole day until you made your judgement.

It makes me laugh now, but the only fight I can clearly remember out of all the fights we fought over three years ended in you being, well, racist. I'd long shut up and was just sitting out your long winded Hitler-worthy rant. I was used to them at that point.

"You're such a liar," you were saying. "Look at you, your skin is so dark. That's why you lie so much. My skin is fair, so I always tell the truth."

Dude.

Just the previous week, we'd learned about racism and crap.

Even though I was only six, I was sensible enough to register the sheer stupidity and audacity of what you were saying.

Besides, you were brown. I was also, in brown. We both still are (atleast I hope so).

I'm seriously laughing my ass off over here thinking about all this again, even though as a kid I was honestly kind of flabbergasted and had no idea what to say.

I don't really remember what happened after that, but the first thing you did to me the next morning when I got on the bus was apologize for being racist (can I even call it that? We were both brown, does it even count?).

I mean. Obviously I forgave you, and we lasted another day or two in some semblance of a truce before the cycle began again. You were still hurting me, making me cry, being a total asshole in general.

But never again were you ever 'racist' to me, not in the three years I endured you before begging my parents to switch school buses because of the general bullying I was dealing with. We were put in different classes too, and for just the last year I spent in that school, I knew peace in its entirety.

So where are we even heading with these words?

I want you to know, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, that the girl you bullied and tormented for three years gets it. Atleast I want to get it. To feel what you felt, to understand why you acted the way you did. You hurt me, but children don't just hurt other children for no reason.

Was it because my parents were more laid back and more loving than yours?

Was it just because I was the easiest person to rough up and hurt and make cry?

Was it just because by seeing and feeling my weakness, you felt stronger?

I can never ask you these questions. Not now, not if we ever meet again.

But a part of me just wants you to know that it's okay. I forgive you, even though all of this is probably ridiculous and stupid and the last thing I need to be thinking about right now.

Maybe you don't even remember me. I don't mind. I remember you, and I hope you're happy, wherever you are.

Maybe we'll meet again someday.

- Jana, 1/4/24