Dear Noah,

Lately there’s been a lot on my mind. I’ve been thinking about you and love and truth and hate. Even though you won’t read this, I thought it would be easier to unscramble my thoughts if I were writing to you, the first person I could call my best friend.

I was on my usual mindless morning walk to class, sunglasses on and AirPods in, when Spotify played this song you shared with me the summer before uni:

Do you remember our first date?

Went to the Gardens by the bay

It’s past a year now since that day

It’s such a long time since you’ve been away

I’d be lying if I said I was okay

It used to be on a long list of songs that I’d immediately skip, since they reminded me of you, and ever since the Confession, these songs have been ruined—stripped of their magic and painted with splatters of heartache. But that day I didn’t even think to skip. My lips eased into a soft smile as I drifted warmly down the alley; all the love I had for you washed over me, waves of cool flames undulating with the melody, leaving behind just me and this song and the glow of the memories of how I used to feel about you. I was over you.

I never told you my half of the Confession. Not fully. It goes back to last summer when we went to see that musical. It was the first time I’d seen you in quite some time, so I dressed to impress, hoping that I could still be yours …. That maybe your new friend—Mina, the one you would mention in every single one of our conversations—was just a friend. We travelled back after the show, and there we sat side by side, like we always would, this time on the 505, but you ignored me in favour of your phone, opting instead to hang onto every text she sent you, never once turning my way. And it broke my heart. I knew you, and I wasn’t stupid; not too deep down, I always knew that you didn’t reciprocate my feelings, though it was only then that I was convinced, for I saw that she was special to you in the way that you were special to me.

That could’ve been the end of it. But the following four days drove me insane, my mind only ever filling with thoughts of you and her and how I wanted you to be with someone who was actually good and competent and kind and funny and pretty and deserving of love. A Confession was the only way to move on. I told you how I felt about you, and then I told you what I told myself, that I needed to be upfront because keeping this a secret kept me stuck.

What I didn’t tell you, because it wasn’t your burden to carry, was that I didn’t deserve you, so even if you did feel the same way, I would only ever hold you back. What I did say was that Mina was clearly someone special to you, and so I encouraged you to go for it. What I didn’t tell you was that I didn’t want you to end up where I was, clinging onto the hope of a relationship with a friend who didn’t reciprocate my feelings. What I did say was that I needed some time away from you, to help me move on, and that maybe after that, we could go back to being friends—the best of friends. What I didn’t tell you was that I wasn’t sure if we could ever go back and be like we always were.

A month became two months which became a whole year and it just kept going. I no longer had a space for you in my life, but you, without trying, took up space anyway. I held off on connecting with someone in the way I did with you, wanting never to risk feeling again the way I felt around you, all hopeless and insecure and desperate for your attention.

But that day in the alley turned the Confession into a mere confession. My memories with you didn’t ruin the song; instead, they embedded themselves within the melody, a fragment of the long beautiful narrative that made me me. Spotify’s autoplay feature showed me I was ready to move on, and it happened just in time for the amazing someone who popped into my life.

I met Kat last year, actually. She messaged me after noticing our shared interest in bikes, and we tried to make plans numerous times, but something always came up. Even so, we were always sort of hovering at the outskirts of each other’s lives. We almost did lose touch, but one day I thought I’d try to reconnect. And we did. Finally we went on these walks, just us two, and spoke for a few hours about school and family and interests and music and more. And I had so much fun. I adored her and I tried to be realistic and cool, but everything she said made me think she was even cooler and left me even fonder of her. It’s special to meet someone who likes all these same things you do, who’s lived this life in many ways mirroring yours, and who gets you, whom you really like, and who is perhaps just as amazed by you as you are by them. It felt like it was meant to be. During all this I thought back to that streetcar ride. If what you felt with Mina was at all like the chemistry I felt with Kat, I understand wholly why Mina stole your attention that night.

Eventually, I asked Kat out and it was a maybe … and then it was a no. Her life was busy enough without the mental weight of dating, too. Still, I felt so comfortable and peaceful and joyful whenever we spoke. I couldn’t shake this feeling that there could still be a future where we would date and even perhaps end up together. With everything else having aligned so neatly, I could not get over the fact that the timing just didn’t work out. And so I was stuck, ceaselessly obsessing, analyzing, and debating with myself whether there was anything I could’ve done differently or if, had I simply been funnier, smarter, and prettier, she might instead have decided that dating was worth it if it was me. Romance derailed my life again.

It took a few weeks with (almost) no contact with Kat for me to return to my most functional self, boring and predictable but functioning. For the first time in months, the chatter stopped and all in my mind was crystal clear.

This newfound lucidity uncovered some sad truths previously shrouded in brain fog:

I don’t like myself. I’m not interesting or intelligent. I’m irresponsible and lazy. I’ve never worked for anything I have. I’m not likeable, let alone loveable. I don’t deserve anything good.

And everything made sense. This is why I avoid competition, always afraid of not measuring up. It’s why I give up when writing applications, refusing myself before anyone else has the chance. It’s why I could never go to grad school. And it must be why romance disturbs my peace so profoundly, every interaction putting me at risk of rejection. So I don’t try—at anything—because I’m afraid that the world will just confirm what I already know: that I am the worst and simply never could deserve those good things.

I guess all this was never really about you or Kat. I still adore Kat, but her decision not to go out with me was, by chance, what was also best for me. Forget self love; I don’t like myself, and I won’t be able to live a fulfilling life until I do. So here’s a new Confession, from me to myself: I have a lot of growing to do before I’m ever able to handle a relationship. Now I know what I need to do. And thank you, Noah, for listening and helping me unscramble all these thoughts and … for being the first person I could call my best friend.

Miel