Written for my college friend who passed away on Dec. 26 and was buried on Dec. 31
Dear Dan,
It's a bit awkward to write this letter to you in this way. We haven't talked for a really long time, not since the summer after I graduated college and left College Station. I know you left me that one comment on my old LJ in 2009, but I had no way to respond to you. It made my heart happy to know that you still thought of me.
I'm so pissed that you're gone. I'm pissed and heartbroken, for your friends and family who are reeling from the loss, and because it means I'll never get to rekindle our friendship. I wanted to reach out to you so many times and even emailed you once, but that account was no longer active.
I know I was difficult to love. And yet you were there, a loyal friend, through all of my manufactured dramas and new fascinations and endless anxiety and hyper happy excitement over the silliest things. I enjoyed our times together and the memories bring a smile to my face.
I love you, Dan. I love you so deeply. And I know that I didn't really deserve a friend like you. You stuck by me even though, as a young twenty-something college student, I was struggling to learn emotional intelligence and maturity. I hurt you, often. And yet you loved me through it all. Thank you so much for being there for me. The truth is, sometimes you were the only one who was there, and without you I would have been so very alone.
You were there when I got the letter of acceptance to grad school. We were sitting in your car (which you nicknamed "Malibu Stacy") and I turned to you and kissed you with pure joy. You were with me when we dunked our Aggie rings together. I used a chugger instead of a pitcher and you never gave me grief about that. You were there when I stayed up all night to write my statement when I appealed the university's decision to punish me for something I hadn't done--and I was scared to death of having a disciplinary violation on my transcript which would keep me from getting into graduate school. You knew how terrified I was and you were there the whole night. You were so tired from staying up to keep me company that you were lying in my bed, dozing off and tolerating my loud typing while I sat on the floor with my laptop, typing and typing away, and then you gave me your vote of confidence in the morning. And I won the appeal.
You brought me twelve white roses after what happened with Ryan. You didn't even know what actually happened and you didn't ask questions. You just brought them. You walked with me all the way to the Albertson's and back to buy a flower for a guy who wasn't worth five minutes of my time. You taught me how to draw better. You wore my high school ring for a day after the first time we became more than just friends.
I was so fascinated by you, by your deep wells of emotion and passion and insight. I felt at home with you as we discussed our Asianness in a way I had never been able to with others. There was a part of me that didn't have to perform for you, to disinfect my difference by adopting the maroon t-shirts or the sanitized stories of my family or my culture. When you brought me those gifts from Korea, it was like you understood. And I in turn adored your uniqueness, the way your facial hair grew in dark brown and blonde at the same time, your cross-continental family, and your sense of humor about all of the cultural tensions that nearly crushed me. Your lack of shame and your bold confidence helped me with my perpetual shame and fear. Thank you for that.
You smoked Marlboro reds and once you took me on a long drive as we smoked in your car. You introduced me to the intensity of the Monte Cristo sandwich during a date at Bennigan's. You showed me photos of your family and your love for them poured out of your eyes, uninhibited and unashamed. You told me hilarious stories about putting a puppy's head in your mouth and dressing up in outrageous costumes.
You often said the most outlandish things. Your wit was dark, sharp, and never missed its mark. Even though you could say things that were cruel at times, you fought fair because the things you said were true.
We played DDR together in my living room. You walked me to InterVarsity large group one time--it would have been your first--but I was wrong about the date and no one was there. Remember when you, the president of the Agnostic and Atheist Student Group, converted to Christianity? Remember how you used to call me "neko" because of my love for cats and ridiculous meowing? Remember the time we went to Fitzwilly's and you wrote "Jesus" on the ticket, and when they read out the fake name you had written, instead of pronouncing it in Spanish, they accidentally pronounced you God? The smirk on your face was classic. We were so goofy together. I was as comfortable as I could be around you. And that's why I feared you. How could you know me--my flaws, my weaknesses, my insecurities--and still love me?
I love you so much, Dan, and my heart is hurting that you can't read this. Thank you for loving me so loyally, so fiercely, so patiently, and so gently. You will always be in my heart and I will never forget you. I am so angry at you for leaving me...but I suppose I'm just repaying the favor, for making you so angry, all those years ago, for leaving you.
It's a bit awkward to write this letter to you in this way. We haven't talked for a really long time, not since the summer after I graduated college and left College Station. I know you left me that one comment on my old LJ in 2009, but I had no way to respond to you. It made my heart happy to know that you still thought of me.
I'm so pissed that you're gone. I'm pissed and heartbroken, for your friends and family who are reeling from the loss, and because it means I'll never get to rekindle our friendship. I wanted to reach out to you so many times and even emailed you once, but that account was no longer active.
I know I was difficult to love. And yet you were there, a loyal friend, through all of my manufactured dramas and new fascinations and endless anxiety and hyper happy excitement over the silliest things. I enjoyed our times together and the memories bring a smile to my face.
I love you, Dan. I love you so deeply. And I know that I didn't really deserve a friend like you. You stuck by me even though, as a young twenty-something college student, I was struggling to learn emotional intelligence and maturity. I hurt you, often. And yet you loved me through it all. Thank you so much for being there for me. The truth is, sometimes you were the only one who was there, and without you I would have been so very alone.
You were there when I got the letter of acceptance to grad school. We were sitting in your car (which you nicknamed "Malibu Stacy") and I turned to you and kissed you with pure joy. You were with me when we dunked our Aggie rings together. I used a chugger instead of a pitcher and you never gave me grief about that. You were there when I stayed up all night to write my statement when I appealed the university's decision to punish me for something I hadn't done--and I was scared to death of having a disciplinary violation on my transcript which would keep me from getting into graduate school. You knew how terrified I was and you were there the whole night. You were so tired from staying up to keep me company that you were lying in my bed, dozing off and tolerating my loud typing while I sat on the floor with my laptop, typing and typing away, and then you gave me your vote of confidence in the morning. And I won the appeal.
You brought me twelve white roses after what happened with Ryan. You didn't even know what actually happened and you didn't ask questions. You just brought them. You walked with me all the way to the Albertson's and back to buy a flower for a guy who wasn't worth five minutes of my time. You taught me how to draw better. You wore my high school ring for a day after the first time we became more than just friends.
I was so fascinated by you, by your deep wells of emotion and passion and insight. I felt at home with you as we discussed our Asianness in a way I had never been able to with others. There was a part of me that didn't have to perform for you, to disinfect my difference by adopting the maroon t-shirts or the sanitized stories of my family or my culture. When you brought me those gifts from Korea, it was like you understood. And I in turn adored your uniqueness, the way your facial hair grew in dark brown and blonde at the same time, your cross-continental family, and your sense of humor about all of the cultural tensions that nearly crushed me. Your lack of shame and your bold confidence helped me with my perpetual shame and fear. Thank you for that.
You smoked Marlboro reds and once you took me on a long drive as we smoked in your car. You introduced me to the intensity of the Monte Cristo sandwich during a date at Bennigan's. You showed me photos of your family and your love for them poured out of your eyes, uninhibited and unashamed. You told me hilarious stories about putting a puppy's head in your mouth and dressing up in outrageous costumes.
You often said the most outlandish things. Your wit was dark, sharp, and never missed its mark. Even though you could say things that were cruel at times, you fought fair because the things you said were true.
We played DDR together in my living room. You walked me to InterVarsity large group one time--it would have been your first--but I was wrong about the date and no one was there. Remember when you, the president of the Agnostic and Atheist Student Group, converted to Christianity? Remember how you used to call me "neko" because of my love for cats and ridiculous meowing? Remember the time we went to Fitzwilly's and you wrote "Jesus" on the ticket, and when they read out the fake name you had written, instead of pronouncing it in Spanish, they accidentally pronounced you God? The smirk on your face was classic. We were so goofy together. I was as comfortable as I could be around you. And that's why I feared you. How could you know me--my flaws, my weaknesses, my insecurities--and still love me?
I love you so much, Dan, and my heart is hurting that you can't read this. Thank you for loving me so loyally, so fiercely, so patiently, and so gently. You will always be in my heart and I will never forget you. I am so angry at you for leaving me...but I suppose I'm just repaying the favor, for making you so angry, all those years ago, for leaving you.