sisterhood of the traveling shirt

of the slowly dwindling list of Big Regrets in my life,

one of the more painful ones is my lack of courage.

in my formative years;

between 6th and 12th grade - i struggled a lot with solidifying a sense of self.

at home i’d always been “julie”

who was to be seen and not heard,

who did too much,

who was spoiled and ungrateful,

who was a burden.

in middle school, i was one of the “julia”s

who took photos to feel like part of a space.

in high school i was “julia” in class,

“little asian boy” or “L.A.B” and sometimes “LingLing” because i made the mistake of disclosing my chinese name to my flag football team,

i was grateful to have a nickname because i thought to have a nickname meant to be included meant to be wanted meant to be cared for.

in USY i was one of many “julias”

but i was also “carmen” to three dear humans.

we passed around a shirt that i had got on my 8th grade trip to D.C.

and we took turns hosting one another,

and i will always remember sleeping in a treehouse,

drinking hot cocoa and seeing a fair,

feeling loved.

that was all “bridget”

who so thoughtfully planned her turn to host us,

who so considerately thought of how to showcase her beloved town.

i was closest, in very specific ways to her.

we came from similar turmoil;

kindness forged in fire,

compassion borne from patriarchal pressure.

“bridget” was my penpal and looking back on key moments,

she helped model what love and life should and could be.

i cherish (i still have it at my mother’s house) the care package she sent me,

full of little souvenirs of things that made her think of me.

when she began branching out,

“tibby” couldn’t handle not being the only friend in her life,

and this soured everything.

“tibby” demanded that we all denounce “bridget”,

though we all had separate relationships with her.

and i acquiesced despite my heart pulling me in a different direction.

i was not strong enough to say no, to stand up for what i believed in.

it was rooted in fear;

"tibby" lived the closest to me, and "bridget" the furthest,

and "tibby" was part of other social circles i frequented.

i have carried the shame, the guilt, the embarrassment,

the anger at my past self, the frustration that i couldn’t follow my heart,

defend my friend.

“tibby” was yet another one of a primal pattern.

a pattern of narcissists who project their insecurity onto everyone in their vicinity.

she was not the only one who projected their insecurities,

i had other friends who also did not know how to handle their jealousy,

their bitterness that “bridget” could see what the world needed,

and understood how she could fill that.

my mother conditioned me to placate insecurity,

to validate and be whoever someone needed me to be,

at the cost of my own freewill and personhood,

but i am not that child anymore,

and i know better now.

by sharing this,

i am freeing myself from the shackles of my shame.

i did what i can to mend, and make amends.

reaching out.

the ball is not in my court anymore,

and the grief is no longer weighing me down.

the irony is that i keep up with none of them now,

"lena" sometimes, once in a while, but she too has moved onward.

"tibby" decided that i did not fit the bill of what she needed from her friends

i am grateful to have been loved by “bridget”,

and by “tibby” and “lena” when we needed each other.

i hope that life will lead us together once again,

fate works in funny ways,

but for now,

i am content laying “carmen” to rest - in peace knowing that i did what i can in the present to right my past wrong.

my little sister says i'm dramatic,

and i don't think she's wrong,

but there's something specifically cathartic about writing my truth into existence,

after long last.

the lesson learned is that 9 years is long enough to carry resentment,

and that courage will keep my bags a lot lighter in the long run.

that it's much more important to love myself and stand by my choices and my heart,

than factor in the approval or opinion of anyone else - even if it makes life harder, even if it's uncomfortable. it is better to be uncomfortable and true to myself than tote a griefcase around for nearly a decade.

i forgive you, julia. i forgive you carmen. i forgive me for not being able to do what i wish i could have.

here's to not making the same mistake again again again.

(i definitely did between the fall of the sisterhood and me writing this, hence the multiple agains, probably should be more but that feels excessive.)