10 Years - Undelivered

How do you sum up 10 years? You don’t when it’s 10 years like ours. The way I am with words, it would probably take me more than 10 years to tell you my version of Our Story this decade. All I want to do here is let you know how much you’ve meant to me over the last 10 years, so please don’t get insulted that it all fits on one sheet. I hate saying best friend, I try not to rate friends but it’s natural. When you and I met it was a natural fit, and I didn’t expect it to be. You know I’ve got a bit of that shyness, and I thought I was going to have to get Mark or Devang to introduce us formally. But it just happened. Can you even remember what our first words were? I think our entire friendship has been spontaneous, not just the McDonald’s runs. You are my best friend, and sometimes you seem to wonder why, so I’ll remind you the way it was told to both of us. You are an Enzyme, my catalyst, responsible for lowering the activation energy (the massive negative energy that must first be overcome) so that I can go on with my life and perform tasks at a million times the rate than if you were never there to help. As we learned in OAC you follow the “lock and key” model and change your structure to lock into my active site and you have an innate sense on how to increase my activation rate. Now, some enzymes are known to break down under certain circumstances (most notably, temperature) but it doesn’t take away from the fact that once united, we became an instant fit for one another, and I could never replace you for a younger or shapelier enzyme. I remember when we used to talk for hours and you would thank me for giving you the forum and the compassion to let you say all that you had spinning up there. You made me start to think that maybe I don’t do my fair share of talking in this partnership. Maybe I’m too closed. But in those times, I needed to listen, I needed to develop ideas. Now I talk too much, look at me rambling, and you seamlessly went along with it and now you’re my ear, my audience, during these times where I need to sell ideas more than develop them. You’re always there for me. The first time I called you, you didn’t pick up. I biked to your house to drop off your gift and your Dad punked me and didn’t let me know that you were actually just sleeping. I can’t remember a time since when you haven’t picked up, when you didn’t shoot back with 10 msn messages or 5 texts or 6 google wave invites. You are dedication. You manifest it. Seriously, who asks to be the Godmother of my future kid while I’m eating chicken, in my early 20s, and single? Though I met you with sarcasm, as is my nature, I understood and appreciated this gesture more than you ever knew: For whatever reason, you are determined to be the rock in my life that I can turn to, even when I am unable to turn to you myself. Other people might find it hard to describe why you and I are such good friends, and I’ll be honest I’ve had my fair share of practice, I’ve been asked. I find it easy to describe, like a self-evident truth: We are friends because we were meant to be. Even in matters of faith, I turn to your friendship to rekindle the idea that certain items in life were set down on the table for us before the meal was served; you and I were always meant to meet. Even when we are not physically together, you and I live and play in each other’s head. A brief confession: Sometimes you’ll start a story with, “Remember I was telling you about….” And I said, “Uh huh.” I was lying. You never told me that story, it wasn’t me. You thought you did, but you didn’t. You maybe meant to tell me, but you didn’t. You may have even told me the story in your head, and that’s probably where I heard it. That’s why I don’t skip a beat with you; I was thinking it when you were thinking it. It’s easy for either of us to open up to one another because we’ve both spent a lot of time in each other’s library; all of our books are open to each other. And whenever my books are scattered, I know I can turn to you to arrange them back into the proper dui-decimal order. I believe you have extensive training in this.

Now, it wouldn’t be fair to tell you everything that I have felt for you without telling you everything that I have felt for you. Don’t worry, I still know the rules. One day a long time ago I asked you, “So what would it take to convince your parents for you to date a black guy?” And you said, “For me to date a fucking black guy, he would have to be a fucking superstar!” At the time I was thinking “superstar = superstar sister = aerostar = Van; Van = eldest sister” because I’m bad with names. But I got the point, as you can see it has stuck with me. At the same time, over the last 9 years, yes 9 years, understanding how you feel has made me feel like I’m not a superstar, not worthy of your love. And with everything I’ve said above about the strength of our friendship, it’s been hard for me at many different times to come to terms with not being worthy of your love. The stronger our friendship grows, the less of a superstar I feel like, and as we approach 10 years of friendship it’s starting to look like our friendship is not going to stop growing, but I need a way to feel like a superstar in your eyes and mine. So please, after 10 years of holding up the white flag for our friendship, let me have a few minutes to tell you a story you’ve already heard. It was 9 years ago, we were both sitting down, I was in my element chatting with others but I glanced over and quickly saw that you weren’t in yours. You scurried around asking everyone else something that I couldn’t hear with my ears, but when your mind is on something so is mine. I got down on my knees and reached under the table, and there it was, in the dark, but to me it was shining gold. I reached towards it with a bit of urgency, I couldn’t believe that you didn’t even tell me it was lost but I found it, and I was going to be the hero who gave it to you. I got off my knees, brushed off the dust bunnies and walked over to you. “Hey Name, I found your camera!” That’s when it happened. You actually lit up, jumped towards me with a huge bear hug. And then, as if to let me know that this was no quick gesture, you kissed me softly, right here. I melted. A slow song started to play at that moment. You asked me if I wanted to dance. Did I say any words? You’ll have to tell me how the rest of that night went because when that song ended I was still lost in 3 minutes prior. For 9 years I’ve still been lost in that moment. Just recently I asked you a question I already knew the answer to: I asked you why you think I’m still single, and you said, “I don’t think you know what you want.” Close, but wrong. I’ve always known. I wanted that kiss. They’ve always known. I heard once, a woman always knows when she looks into the eyes of her lover, and sees someone else. Before I heard this quote I agreed with it, because when I had my first time, she knew I didn’t want it to be with her, and that’s why she asked me why you and I never hooked up. She saw it in my eyes. They all have. So have you. Sooner or later they’ve known that I can’t convince myself yet that they are the one for me. And when you see yourself in my eyes you always look away, which is why we tend to have amazing conversations in a car or while walking in the same direction, trying to face something else. Parking lots are our friend. So why tell you this hear and now? Trust me, I’ve tried to tell you several times before. I have a myriad of anecdotes around sharing my inner dialogue with you over the last 9 years, which I would love to share with you over the next 9 years, but I didn’t write this to be anecdotal. Like these fucking clowns who had the nerve to tell you the words that they don’t even understand, but I have always meant: I love you. Clayton, Walter, Kunal. I only mention these names here so you know who I am talking about, and who I am not talking about. Anyway, I wrote this because this is the only gift I could possibly think of giving you to celebrate both the 10 special years we’ve shared together, and also the many better years I want to share with you. (Half-truth: I also saw this necklace at Peoples with 2 dolphins on it that reminded me of Valencia). I wrote this because I want to stop asking you the questions I already know the answer to. I wrote this because I want to stop asking myself the questions I don’t want to know the answers to. I wrote this because if I didn’t write it down, I would ramble. I wrote this because I want to stop lying to you.

Not too long ago, you asked me a question that I already knew the answer to. But because our friendship has had me committed to lying, I didn’t tell you the truth. After O Noir, we were driving in a parking lot, good timing, and you asked me a question that in romance movies you would’ve asked me beneath the stars: How can you ever know if you’ve found the one, is there really anything more to love? For me, the answer was easy. If it doesn’t at least feel like the kiss you gave me at the edge of the dance floor after I found your camera for you at Grade 12 prom, then it’s not the one. But if it does, you’re probably on the right track. Maybe you’ve found that kiss, or maybe very shortly you’ll discover you’ve found that kiss. Maybe I’ll find that kiss again, unlocking me yours. Maybe you can help unlock me from your kiss. One day, after you’ve read or thought of this message again and you understand that everything is still good between us, you can take me by surprise and give me a soft kiss on this side, complete the circuit, so that I’m not still being shocked by the first kiss. Until then, all I can hope for is that you still want to take care of my babies if I flee the country, because this message only makes our friendship stronger. Not only is our friendship magnificent and pre-determined, but now it is also the truth. Happy Anniversary! I love you.