IT’S MY 50TH BLOG POST!
Yes, I know that you probably don’t care, but for me it’s a big deal. I started this blog a little over two years ago, and honestly I didn’t know if I would be able to keep it going. There were periods of time when I stopped blogging, but I always come back for some reason. I don’t consider myself a blogger, just someone who occasionally has something to say.
I don’t really get a lot of haters, mostly because my readership isn’t large enough to attract them, but lately I’ve been getting a few negative comments. Some people feel that I play the victim too much and that I call other people out on their shit too much. I know that this is true, and I’m not going to change. After all, I was a victim. And when someone harms other people I believe that it should at the very least be discussed.
But I decided that for my 50th blog post I would call someone out that I haven’t called out before: me. If we are to be completely honest with ourselves, I’m pretty sure that we can all agree that we’ve done something that hurt someone else. It’s mostly an accident, but we’d be lying if we said we’ve never hurt someone on purpose. Now, in this specific situation I didn’t hurt the person on purpose, but I was too proud and too dumb to apologise…
I didn’t have a lot of friends in school. I mostly spent breaks by myself and I didn’t invite anyone over to my house. My social anxiety was too heavy, then already.
In fifth grade, a new student came to our school. She was a nice girl from Kenya. We had a few common interests, one of them being art. We took art classes together after school. I was never a talented artist, but she was particularly talented. She was one of those people who could just pick up a pencil and draw the most beautiful pictures, making it look so effortless. We also sat next to each other in class. I attended an A.C.E. (look it up) school, which meant that we worked in little compartments. We had dividers between us, but when the teacher wasn’t looking that didn’t exactly stop us.
I have a very sarcastic/mean sense of humour. Unfortunately I tend to get a bit carried away and sometimes people don’t realize that I’m really only joking. One day during class, my friend and I were sending each other notes. She had a similar sense of humour, and we were telling each other how we were going to kick each other’s asses. In all honesty, I can’t remember exactly what we were talking about, but we were drawing pictures of how we were going to kick each other off our chairs. At one point I drew a purposefully ugly face picture (that looked nothing like her) and wrote that she looked like that. She stopped sending letters. At some point the teacher came to her and it seemed like she was crying.
I didn’t understand what was going on. After that our friendship deteriorated rather rapidly. A few weeks later I found out through the grapevine that she was upset about the picture. I thought it was silly. I didn’t understand what the issue was, because I thought that it was very clear that I was joking.
But I didn’t talk to her about it.
About a year or so after the incident she left Harrismith and I didn’t see her again. As I got older, however, I started to understand why she had been so upset. At the time she was overweight. It didn’t bother me at all, but obviously it was an issue for her. As a child I was skinny, but during my high school years I started gaining weight and by the time I finished school I was 15kg overweight. Suddenly I understood how she felt. People started mentioning my weight, some of them even made fun of me. I absolutely hated the way I looked. Even now that I’ve lost the weight again I still feel ugly a lot of the time, especially when I go to auditions and I see all the pretty boys that I have to compete with.
Last year, about ten years after I drew that stupid picture, I looked her up on Facebook. She has since lost a lot of weight and grown into a stunningly beautiful young woman. The classic case of the “ugly” duckling that became a beautiful swan.
It took me a while to get the courage, but I finally sent her a lengthy message in which I told her how sorry I was and that I regret how I made her feel. I waited a while for the response. I thought that she was probably going to tell me how bad it was for her at the time. But no, she didn’t remember it!!! She told me that she remembers me as someone kind and sweet.
I couldn’t believe it. I was glad that she didn’t spend all these years agonising over it, but at the same time I spent the last ten years feeling guilty about what I did. And it was all for nothing.
I guess that the moral of the story here is that you need to be able to admit when you fuck up. As soon as possible. If I hadn’t been so stupid our friendship probably wouldn’t have ended the way it did. Our issues would have been settled much sooner.
So yes, now that I’ve confessed my wrongdoing I can go back to trolling other people and writing senseless blog posts. What a relief.