Memopad Stuff
Hey, Bean!
Been a while. How’s everything? Has life been treating you good like how I prayed for? Good.
I’ve just finished watching TSITP, a series I could swear I’ve watched. But in reality, it was really my first time.
I saw Conrad, the undergraduate (eventually a graduate) Stanford medstud whose virtues are just like yours. He’s kind though he doesn’t talk much. He shuts practically everyone out, especially after his mother died not long after he discovered his father was cheating on her with his secretary—the same person who eventually managed everything for his brother’s wedding with his ex only with whom he has been in love with for THREE WHOLE SEASONS. I’d say get a life, to be honest. He had Agnes, she was a good friend and she liked him though we all know (even Agnes herself) that she doesn’t stand a chance against Isabela. I’ve watched only season 3, but from their brief moments when they were in-frame, they reminded me of us. Guess which “they” I’m referring to? :]
Well, at first he reminded me of you; except unlike you, he’s the first-born. He was very quiet and had been walking on eggshells around everyone, especially his brother and his ex. He did her wrong while he was grieving his Mother because somehow he has your communication skill. Yeah, it sucks. When it comes to opening up, you suck. And although a part of me really wants to punch you in the face for not making it—making us —work, the rest still believes that it’s not merely on you. Some people see communication the same like being held at gunpoint, as if admitting to reality or validating your feelings is a form of public humiliation; like being stripped down wearing nothing at the stadium only to be thrown tomatoes at.
Listen, I don’t know how you were raised. I’ve read all your writings and in some you’ve mentioned your family, but I’d rather not assume because if I were to figure out, it has got to be from you. All I’d have to do is listen. And not that the way I was raised is better because I (and my therapist; yes I’ve been seeking professional helps) can assure you it’s probably way worse, but I have a little sister too. And somewhere along the way of me co-parenting her because my father is absent and my mom is too all over the place, I realized that she has begun to lose her spark. She barely shares anything with me and yet from a distance, I can still see her exchanging laughters and stories with her friends. If I were to project my own experience to her, I’d say she’s doomed. Why? Because making friends has been a hard mission for me to accomplish. Thankfully, not for her. She still has those reckless kids, except for Danine, the most fun yet the most obedient. Just knowing that somewhere out there she has someone who’s looking after her soothes me. And so I thought, maybe you’re like that too?
I’m not your ring 1, don’t think I’ll ever be, and that’s okay. All that matters is that you have someone or somewhere you’ll feel brave enough to be bare. The closest I can think of other than Syandi is your Medium page. You’ve grown so much. Your grammars, choice of words, the way you write, what you’re writing about, basically (in the most not basic and amazing way) everything! I’m not going to lecture you on grammars just because I’m an English teacher now, though. Your memorandums shifted from tips and tricks with that ad article style into a somewhat twisted, winded, slightly over-complicated personal bibliography; as if you’re so scared people might immediately figure out what kind of a person you are hence the maze of understanding, you wanted them to put effort in knowing you to cherish you evermore. Remember what I said about you being so afraid someone might see a side of you that you’ve spent years hiding? That was you when you first wrote about something personal. But from then on, everything feels genuine and warm, as if I have a bigger sibling I can look up to and whine to about Mom’s unfair decisions. Maybe—just maybe—it was what kept me around bugging you with any ways I could think of just to get a second glance from you. I begged for you. I was desperate. I was so scared of losing yet I forgot you were not mine to lose. Not even a little to begin with.
Your writings hit close to home. They’ve offered me a comfort I didn’t know exists. And I don’t know if you’ve known, but I’m heavy on picking the right specific words—only then you’d really mean what you said. So imagine how glad I was that among billions or gazillions of people in this world, I got to meet you. And no, I’m not trying to elicit or reignite the old flame. I have my own burning chimney that’s warm and settled. But I just want to let you know that I think I can let go now. I can finally let go all of the what-if’s, the guilts, the pains, the wishful thinking, the delusions, and the person himself; you. Like a lost soul stuck in the mortal realm due to unfinished business, I can finally rest in peace knowing that from now on, I see you as a brother—the older one who loves to serve his beautiful bratty spoiled sister and is thriving to become the best yet most mysterious dentist ever.
I know it’s only Naya who said that you loved me so much. But I don’t think we need her to tell you how much you’re loved, not only romantically but with all the -ly’s available for a non bf-gf type of affection. I hope you know that and remember that on every sad days where your train is late, the escalator is off, or your patient throws a tantrum.
If you haven’t figured it out, you’re Conrad Beck Fisher. And me, I can’t really decide whether I’m Isabel (Belly, as how people call her) or Agnes. I mean, if we were to take things back to the two years I claimed to be wrapped around your finger, I’m Belly specifically from season 1 and 2. But now, I think it’s safe to say I’m more Agnes. At least, I aspire to be Agnes. I wish to possess such greatness in being friends with someone I had loved for so long no matter how unrequited it was. I wish to be able to be around you just to nudge you with questions in my head about crumbs like romance. I wish I can be your wingman when you’ve finally found your Belly. I wish for you, all the best though they might not be the easiest way out because I know you can. I wish that somehow, somewhere in this lifetime, I can be good enough for you to trust me and answer my nosy questions even if that’s just to shut me up. I don’t mind as long as you’re not the one having to shut up and suppress things to yourself. As long as you’re happy, I am too.
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I know you know who is Tara. Though I think you’re not going to read this or any of your stories on my page. But if you do, please text me so I’d know if the pigeon has reached its destination. Thank you.
On second thought, maybe don’t text me. Write something you know only you and I would know it’s for each other. No need to be too chary, just like a talk you’d like for us to have. Thank you.
After I thought of it for the third time, don’t reach out in such ways since my only wish is to know when you’ve read this. So, a clap will do.
As what people in LinkedIn say, good luck on your future endeavours!
