Dorm 308

{ T W E N T Y S E V E N }

When I was nine years old, I had a petty fight with my friend, Leila, in elementary school. It was simply because she stole the pink, glittered pencil – with an Eiffel Tower topper on it – that my father had given me when he went to Europe for a business trip. I was left at my grandparent's house for a week and a half. As a kid, I never knew the importance of communication, all I knew that time was my most trusted friend that time, wants my pencil and I want that pencil too because my father gave it to me.

My grandmother always reminds me that you should always talk to other people if you want something to happen, speak up and be heard. That time, I told my father I want to go to Disneyland because my grandmother told me to tell people what I want to happen. Surprisingly, my father did bring me to Disneyland for my ninth birthday. It was memorable. So that time, I childishly told Leila that I want my pencil back, we had more small, irritating banters, but in the end, she gave it back to me.

In another serious and mature situation, when I was fourteen and I like this cool boy in school, but he was too popular. I didn't like him romantically, I like him in a friendly way and I want to be friends with him. Remembering what my grandmother said, I put out all my guts and said Hi to him. Now, Jason is still one of my best friends back in our town. I wouldn't have had a friend like him if I didn't communicate with him when I was fourteen.

In a more serious and heartbreaking situation, I was seventeen when I started to like a certain guy, he has a beautiful blond hair and pale blue eyes, but he was a year older than me and was about to go to college. Jason, as my friend, set me up with him in the year-end party. We hang out during the night, without him knowing that I see him differently. In the end, when we were alone, I told him that I have a crush on him. He straightforwardly rejected me by laughing in front of my face and telling me that I was kid. A kid, when I was just a year younger than him.

That time, it vastly affected me that it personally altered the way I was. I was not expressive and vocal the way I was before. I was wholly humiliated and heartbroken. Because of that tragic incident, I started bottling up my feelings and keep it all to myself instead. I don't want to feel like that again. Even if it was already one and a half year ago. It was one of the main reasons why I always find it hard to tell someone something or I like them because I already know the feeling of being rejected. And trust me when I say that it's the worst thing that a person could ever feel.

It's weird how a simple yet tragic event in our life, that happened in the past, could affect how we are and what we believe in today. And the possible events that will happen in the future will always be an intimidating mystery to us.

Now, even if I always had a hard time to tell Harry what I want – because this is another more serious and mature situation – I'm glad that Harry and I, even from small and baby steps, we learned to communicate. It was the thing we lack the most in the dormitory in the first two months. Having Harry and I say sorry to each other helps us grow to be a more mature young adults. We have lifted both of each other's burden because we are able to say the things we have regretted to say to each other. If we continue to communicate what we don't like about each other and what we want to happen, I can perfectly see a better relationship, or whatever this is, between us.

Communication is key.

"How did you know Trevor gave me a ticket?" I inquisitively asked Harry as we made our way towards the double doors of the locker rooms to leave. We're walking side by side, with Harry's duffle back on the other side of his shoulder. He mindlessly keep bumping on my shoulder and I, enjoying to be near him, didn't complain.

"He was looking for you yesterday while I was on my way back. He asked me where you were." He replied.

I nodded in reply. We reached the heavy steel door on the way to the wide field. The cheering of the crowd can be heard from our distance, giving us the idea that the game had begun. The blinding rays of the sun made me cover my eyes using the back of my hand while the scorching heat prickles through my skin. Harry, who looks like he isn't even affected by the burning heat, pulls out a pair of sunglasses from his bag. He placed them on his eyes,  looked at me sideways, and plastered a smile when he saw me staring at him.