#0835
A while back, a friend put on facebook that if you private messaged her a number, she would post a reply on her page using the number as the identifier. This past few weeks she has done it again and she posted mine today......
#0835: You empathise with my wandering ways, perhaps more than almost anyone I’ve ever known, although you’ve almost always lived in the same place, while I’ve been flung all over the earth. Your course has been internal; we share this, as we’ve shared so many memories and dark riddles. We met at a religious camp for girls. We detested each other instantly; you were a tough little butch Tae Kwon Do-doer and I was a skinny, scabby-kneed tomboy who concealed it with hyper-feminine clothing. By the first night, we decided not to hate each other somehow. We had to occupy the same tent, so we had to figure it out. You serenaded me with Peter Cetera’s “The Glory of Love,” kneeling in a fire pit to sing, “I am a man, who will fight for your honour.” You later injured yourself trying to do a leaping split for me. We had trees dedicated to us, taught First Aid sessions that went dreadfully awry, and made up own raps to Beastie Boys songs. Adults frequently punished or scolded us; I think if you hadn’t been my friend, you wouldn’t have been disciplined nearly as hard. I was an easy target for reproach—I was a spirited creature who meant no harm to others but was forever pushing boundaries. You were much more responsible. I destroyed my First Aid manual with graffiti and often came to meetings with hair wet and a towel on my head; I stole canoes to take to the other side of the lake and flirted with the few boys who were allowed near. You read me dramatic excerpts from your diary and cooked food over a fire for me. We ended up being in the same tent for almost a decade. None of my relationships have even lasted that long. Whether we are talking philosophically about religion or unleashing our deepest secrets, there is trust. There has always been trust. When you tell me that you admire me, I always want to live up to it because you’re someone that I greatly respect. You’re so real, so likeable, so honest about who you are that it motivates others to be the same.
#0835: You empathise with my wandering ways, perhaps more than almost anyone I’ve ever known, although you’ve almost always lived in the same place, while I’ve been flung all over the earth. Your course has been internal; we share this, as we’ve shared so many memories and dark riddles. We met at a religious camp for girls. We detested each other instantly; you were a tough little butch Tae Kwon Do-doer and I was a skinny, scabby-kneed tomboy who concealed it with hyper-feminine clothing. By the first night, we decided not to hate each other somehow. We had to occupy the same tent, so we had to figure it out. You serenaded me with Peter Cetera’s “The Glory of Love,” kneeling in a fire pit to sing, “I am a man, who will fight for your honour.” You later injured yourself trying to do a leaping split for me. We had trees dedicated to us, taught First Aid sessions that went dreadfully awry, and made up own raps to Beastie Boys songs. Adults frequently punished or scolded us; I think if you hadn’t been my friend, you wouldn’t have been disciplined nearly as hard. I was an easy target for reproach—I was a spirited creature who meant no harm to others but was forever pushing boundaries. You were much more responsible. I destroyed my First Aid manual with graffiti and often came to meetings with hair wet and a towel on my head; I stole canoes to take to the other side of the lake and flirted with the few boys who were allowed near. You read me dramatic excerpts from your diary and cooked food over a fire for me. We ended up being in the same tent for almost a decade. None of my relationships have even lasted that long. Whether we are talking philosophically about religion or unleashing our deepest secrets, there is trust. There has always been trust. When you tell me that you admire me, I always want to live up to it because you’re someone that I greatly respect. You’re so real, so likeable, so honest about who you are that it motivates others to be the same.