Take Me Back to the Night We Met

**Note: This a guest submission from one of my friends who wished to remain anonymous. 

A friend once told me through a handwritten letter that she wanted to go back to the night we met. Not the day when we first ran into each other in middle school and become friends. Not the last day she spent with us in high school before moving out of state. But the night when she came back to visit her relatives and friends. In her letter, she wrote that had so many things she wanted to talk about but she couldn’t. She continued to write that she felt as if the entire world has given up on her. For a moment that we spent conversing and catching up, she felt as if someone cared. However, she wrote she got scared because she didn’t know who she can trust anymore.

It wasn’t just her that wanted to go back to that night. After I finished reading her letter, I thought the same thing. I vaguely remember about how she quit talking about her school and everyday life and didn’t want to continue. Moreover, I clearly remember she just looked so dead exhausted as if she was at dead’s end. She was, I had sensed it but I ignored it because I thought she’d told me one day. Only I wasn’t expecting for her to tell me through a letter. That night I went to sleep like usual, but I couldn’t get a good night rest. The following morning, I was just restless.

I went to school and by the end of the day I learned that out of all her friends in high school, I was the only one to receive a letter and the only who she contacted at least two or three times a year when she got married. All the possible signs were there, she showed it that night and through the times when we chat online. I felt…foolish for not doing anything. I felt that I hadn’t been a good friend for her. That night, I used to think to myself, I should have continued to talk to her, introduce her to my new friends, and the very least let her know that she was still part of my life that I still cared about her. Instead, I chose to walk away.

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “Take Me Back to the Night We Met

  1. More details please. What I got from reading this is that one of your friends went through depression, and she only had a few trustworthy friends to talk to. You recognized the signs that she needed help but decided to walk away. The last day of school arrived and after that, your friend got married and lived out of state. Even though she’s married, she still continued to send letters out to a few special trustworthy friends. Now you are regretting that you were not such a good friend. You wished you had talked to her more often and introduced her to your new friends to let her know that someone still cares for her.

    Why do you regret this, Anonymous friend of MaiMai? The only conclusion I can arrive at is that your friend has passed away due to depression/suicide. You’re blaming yourself because you feel that you could have stopped her depression/suicide. I could be wrong though.

    If I am correct, then I express my deep condolences to your friend. If I am wrong, then what are you waiting for?! Go contact that friend and make her feel great again!

    1. Sorry, but as respect to my friend this is all she will be able to share. She did, on her first draft included more details, but as we were going over it one more time she didn’t feel comfortable with all the details. So we spend hours discussing and revising, and decided to end it just like how you read it.

      1. That is okay as well. It is your friend’s story and she has the final say on what she wants to share and what not to share. I will respect her decision and leave this as it is. 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.