Dear Diary

Dear diary,



My ex-best friend left yesterday. She stepped from this world to the next, the world where many has fantasized, wondered about, and tried to put into words. I hadn't seen her in years, and now I never will. From what her mother described, she had been in the merciless clutches of severe bullying, beaten senseless by cruel hands, lashed at by savage tongues.

Earlier, I took out a photo album, and looked at the photos of long ago. I'd studied her carefully, her carefree face, bursting at the seams of immense joy. She was so young, and anyone who'd looked at her then would have predicted that her life would be one of fruitful success. Once, she told me she wanted to be a counselor, to take care and protect those who others wouldn't protect and care for. She wanted to bring joy and light to a hopeless man's dark and bleak world. Altruistic, that's what she is, no different from the heroes of our favorite books. If you'd ask me, I would have told you she would have been the perfect counselor, the best person to do the job, she was always so happy, unlike the girl now lying in the coffin, cold and still. Yet she would never get to fulfil that life-long dream. Literally.

Semi-consciously, I'd realized that since I moved away, the hole in my heart has been mending, and where she'd once been, was now replaced by a dull throbbing ache.

No I will not pine, and I will not cry. After all, it's the circle of life, isn't it? But if it is natural, then why did it hurt so much? Why did it feel as if someone has stabbed me in the heart, the very same spot that wasn't completely healed?

Yet I can't stem the gush of regret, pooling into my veins, like a tidal wave, so strong, eroding my last resolves. But I will NOT cry. I am the strong one.

When we were seven, we were told to have our injections done by the school nurse. Upon hearing that, she had gotten scared. No one liked injections. Not even me. But I had to be strong, if not for my ego, then for her. So I volunteered to go first, to show her that there's nothing to be afraid of, and I laughed away the pain. Dozen pairs of admiring eyes looked on with envy, but only one gaze mattered. Hers. And her eyes were shining, full of gratitude. That was when I knew I would always have to be the strong one, and an unspoken agreement was made. It was to be my job to always go first, to made sure the road ahead was a safe one, before calling her to join me. But this time, she has left without me. She has gone first.

A whirlpool of regret is churning in my gut, an insistent reminder that I hadn't been there for her. Not when she needed me the most--- I'd failed. I can feel the tears prickling my eyes and constricting my throat.

Maybe if I don't cry, when I wake up tomorrow, I'd realize that this has been all a bad dream, and find myself back home with her. Where I belong, right next to her, I would give her the most attention anyone can ever give. I'd always be there for her, no matter what it costs me. Maybe if I close my eyes, when I reopen them, she'd be standing in front of me, saying 'Surprise!' Maybe if I hadn't left... If only...

But I won't cry, even if the pain is gnawing on my insides, burning me up feverishly. Not just yet. If not for me, then at least for her.