Alone again, naturally

ICELEBRATED the 12th year of celebrating my 28th birthday a month ago today. Techni cally, my age is 40, but I insist in making it more complicated by telling people the opening statement of this piece.

I also lost my mother recently. And these events provided me opportunities to reflect on things and life in general. I’ve always relied on my mother, even at my age. I never even imagined being alone without her. I’ve always thought she’d always be by my side. Now, I feel all alone like I never felt before.

I am a good friend. Well, I think I have always been one. I know I have always been one. I used to climb mountains and cross rivers for other people.

I was the ever-supportive and loyal friend who was the first non-relative in the hospital. I practically flew the route from our home to the hospital when I heard that my friend’s father was rushed to the ER. The first person who offered his shoulder for my friend to cry on, and the wall she can lean on.

I thought I am a good friend or I would like to believe I am one. To be honest, I have only been good to those who are also good to me. For the rest, I have been doing my best to be civil to. Nonetheless, I am the type of friend who would drop everything and run (fly, if I could) to help out a friend in need. I have been the friend who is be there for you sometimes even before you ask.

I have always been a social animal. I enjoy the company of people. I am always in their company. I have gathered in my fold so many friends that whenever I walk down Session Road, chances are, there will be at least one friend that I will meet. Even abroad, I remember meeting a friend at Ocean Park in Hong Kong and another at the Singapore airport.

However, nowadays, I feel so alone. The friends whom I thought would be there when I needed them, the friends whom I thought I need not tell them what I am going through for them to offer support were nowhere to be found during the times when I needed a wall to lean on and shoulder to cry on.

When the doctors told me of the lean chances of my mother surviving the surgery, I had to run back to my hotel to cry. I had to do it in the hotel because I don’t want to cry all alone in the hallways of the hospital. It’s bad enough to cry. I don’t want people to pity me further for crying alone.

I am now used to being alone lately. My mother who has been with me through it all has gone. I can’t rely on friends being there for me anymore. I should fight it out in this cruel world, albeit alone, but strong. I will survive. I should survive for my sake.