Letting go isn't easy. In fact, it's one of the hardest things I've had to do. It didn't happen overnight. I didn't wake up one day and just decide to be okay with losing friends I once cared so much about. I had to face every stage of grief — denial, anger, bargaining, sadness — all of it, before I could even reach some form of acceptance. The hardest part was that I couldn't see the end of the tunnel for a long time, and that left me feeling lost.
During that period, the nights felt longer than usual. I couldn't sleep. My mind wouldn't quiet down. I kept replaying everything that had happened — what I said, what I did, what I could have done differently. I found myself worrying about the future too, but not just about school. I wondered how I would ever feel safe around people again. How do you trust someone when you're not sure who's real anymore?
I thought a lot about the friendships I had lost. The friendships that once brought me joy, security, and a sense of belonging. But now, they felt like fragments of a past I couldn't reclaim. What hurt even more was the realization that, for some of these people, the bond I had with them didn't mean the same to them. It wasn't mutual. That was a hard truth to swallow. You think you've shared experiences that bind you, but sometimes, it's only in those moments of loss that you realize how fragile those bonds truly were.
Thankfully, my mother was there through it all. She knew something wasn't right, even when I couldn't explain it. She didn't need the full story — she just understood. She'd sometimes talk to me about it when I was ready. Other times, she'd simply pull me away from my thoughts. She'd take me out for a walk, ask my sister to accompany me somewhere, or just sit with me quietly. Her presence became my anchor, even if she didn't say much.
But she's human too. Sometimes, when she got frustrated with me, she'd say things like, "No wonder you got no friends," or joke about me not having any. At first, those words stung deeply, like a punch to a wound I was trying to heal. It was like I was being reminded of everything I feared — that I was alone, and maybe deserved to be. But over time, I stopped reacting. I got used to it. That didn't mean it didn't hurt, though. It just became something I learned to live with. Even if the wound heals, the scar remains.
Emotionally, I wasn't okay. I didn't talk about it, but I knew something in me had changed. I started doubting everything I said. I couldn't stop overthinking my words, worried I'd say something wrong or upset someone. I found myself apologizing constantly, even when I hadn't done anything wrong. I had become scared of being misunderstood, scared of rejection. I didn't know who I could trust anymore, and it felt like I was losing a part of myself in the process.
The truth is, I lost more than just friends. I lost my sense of ease, of confidence, of belonging. And the worst part? I started to believe maybe I wasn't meant to have those connections again. Maybe I wasn't good enough for them. In those moments of solitude, I tried to convince myself that I could be okay on my own, but the truth is, it wasn't the same. I longed for the companionship that I had once taken for granted.
However, I have a few friends that I want to thank. We weren't especially close, but their kindness meant the world to me. Thong Wan was one of those friends. She told me I could always text her if I needed to, and that small gesture meant so much. Then there's Zi Yi, whose instant replies to my messages and video calls always made me feel heard. She was always there to listen to my rants, and I'll never forget that.
In those dark moments, these small acts of kindness were the light that kept me going. They showed me that not everyone leaves. Some people stay, even if they don't always know how to help. Just knowing someone cared, even in the smallest ways, was enough to remind me that I wasn't truly alone. I'll be forever grateful to them, not just for the friendship they offered, but for the space they provided for me to heal.
Through everything, I realized I don't hate anyone, even though they hurt me. Instead, I feel like I've grown from the experience. I've learned that emotions alone don't help. They bring confusion, not clarity. I've learned that controlling my emotions, instead of letting them control me, is key to moving forward. That doesn't mean I don't feel anymore — it just means I'm learning to manage it better.
I also learned that some people aren't meant to stay in your life. They leave, and that's okay. I don't buy into the idea that "Secondary school friends are the only people you'll ever be close to." I've seen, through my experiences in poly, that friendships can grow and change over time. Some of the best connections come from unexpected places. What matters is the bond you share, not the time or place.
In the end, letting go doesn't mean forgetting or pretending it didn't hurt. It means accepting that some things are beyond your control, and learning to move forward without bitterness. The people who left, and the ones who stayed, all played a part in shaping who I am today. And though the scars of the past will always be there, I know now that they don't define me. What matters is how I choose to move forward, and the person I decide to become because of it.