Dear Fong,

When I look at you, all I want to do is cry because--how could someone I love hurt me so deliberately? I try to tell myself that it's your playfulness that gets the best of me and I should ease up, yet as I make excuses for you, I simply feel bullied. And it's not that I don't enjoy it when your playful, that is a part of you I do love, it's that at times you take things further than what I could handle.

It's just like you calling me fat. You're always calling me fat, and I know it has nothing to do with today, but I thought you should know that when you do, I asocial don't mind. I know that you're just having your fun, but then there was that day when you decided to read article on msn and then deliberately clicked on a dieting article and said, 'this one's for you;' that was taking it too far. You had thought that I was just mad because you called me fat, but I wasn't angry with you. I was crying because you didn't even consider how I might feel when you subjected me to being fat. You didn't understand that in that instant I felt so ugly and undesirable, and all you said was sorry because you thought I was mad. Well, maybe you didn't know any better and I can forgive you for that, but you can be so brute that it hurts, and I was hurt that day, as I am today.

While I should be more lenient on you, what happened at the pool today isn't something that I can easily let go. You crossed the line, I just wanted to have a good time and I know you did too, but you have to understand that pushing me under isn't funny. The first time you did it, I let it slide. Maybe you were too busy laughing that you didn't realize that I didn't laugh, I didn't think it was funny at all. How could I have? I couldn't even get to the edge without your help because I had exhausted all my energy trying to resurface and stay afloat. When you did help me, you pushed my head under the water once again and brought me *close* to the edge. When I finally managed to get ahold of the edge and pull myself up, you just laughed, but I was so scared and shocked, and I said to myself, let it slide. I told you that I wasn't a strong swimmer afterwards. Then, you did it again. You pushed me under and I panicked, I did everything I could to resurface and right when my head popped out you pushed me under again, and again. I barely took in a good breath of air because every time I came up, I just tried to scream and instead I swallowed water. I was so tired and afraid, but to you it was just a joke. You were having fun at the sight of me struggling and at the thought of drowning me. I can't trust you anymore. Had I been in the middle of the pool drowning, you would have thought it was the funniest thing to ever happen to me. You wouldn't have helped me because by the time you finished laughing to realize that it was real, it would have been too late. I am not okay, I am so hurt. I tried so hard not to cry in front of everyone, I really tried and you just laughed.

Please don't write back to me in a letter if you have anything to say. I only wrote it because I wouldn't be able to tell you without crying.

PK

"But I'm not saying anything", he'd tell me. And on the other-side of the line, approximately 600 miles away,  I'd just smile, "I know;" it's the best way I could describe it-- what I'm doing. Do you ever have those instances when you want to talk to someone, but don't have anything to say? It's as if all the words have been exhausted, yet the desire to connect still there. He tells me I'm crazy for listening to his silence, but even crazy saves me from my fantasized humiliation. I could picture it so clearly, picture how he'd burst out laughing the moment I explain to him that I'm not just listening, that if I breath slowly and just feel, it feels almost like those times when I'd sit idly beside him while he's playing games, or when we're watching a movie and we're so focused on the screen, we don't notice how we're practically sitting on top of each other. I don't want him to be burdened by how it seems almost desperate that my desire has transcended the physical. And my whole being can be content on the idea of his presence sharing a simple phone call with me. But it is one of my mottos, take what you can. I'm taking from the silence, enjoying his faint breathing muffle the receiver. I love talking to him, but not more than being with him. Who knows what I'd trade to be with him, or feel like I am with him. Some times talking seems to be so taxing, it amplifies the distance like we're trying to make up for the closure. And if it were up to me, I'd sit here all day and listen.

Penn and I had gotten into a conversation about Don, my roommate and former best friend. I had mentioned that Don was sleeping and suffering from a blood clot in is abdominal.


"You should go and try to see if there's anything you can do for him," Penn told me.

"There is nothing that I can do for him."

"There's always something more that you can do."

"There is nothing more that I can do... What? I'm a bad friend aren't I?" I asked.

"Yes you are," he replied, "and at this rate you'll be a bad wife too."

"Well... that's what you think." I said a bit hurt, "I guess it's a good thing you have a good wife then."

Penn and I have a delicate friendship. We have feelings for each other that transcends the conventional and shouldn't exist. He is married and has a beautiful three-year-old son named Erik. His wife, Ollie, knows vaguely about our friendship and has asked me numerous times to stop contacting her husband. Although I know that I should honor the request of his wife, I could never do it, not unless he wanted me to.

"This isn't about me," he said.

"Then what is it about?" I asked probingly, "You brought up how insufficient I would be at being a wife."

"Never mind."

"You can't say never mind every time you want to dodge a topic."

"You just don't get it. I can't be there for you. You should talk to Don and be better to him," he said, once again.

"I know that you can't be there for me. I'm not asking you to, it's you who don't get it."

"Then tell me," Penn demanded.

"About what?" I asked.

"About what I don't get."

"That Don and I are not compatible," I typed irritably, "I've told you so many times."

"Some things in life are not doable but worth trying."

"I'm not opt to try."

"You haven't put much thought to what I said have you?"

Don was my best friend. All through high school he was there for me along with Serenity, another dear friend. The three of us were inseparable; always getting into trouble with our late nights out. In August Don and I moved out together to Florida where we now live in a one bedroom apartment. Our relationship has since gone sour, and I relayed my frustrations and concerns to Penn, my one confidante. Penn suggested that Don and I get together so that physical closure would mend our differences. What Penn doesn't get is that his suggestion is simply revolting for me, hands down.

"Oh, I have and my answer's the same," I rebuked, "Would you like to hear what I have to say about this matter though?"

"No. Not until you're less selfish."

"What makes me selfish?" I inquired wearily.

"Think about how you started and how you got to where you are."

"Oh, right. I only focus on my own happiness," I said hoping to sound sarcastic.

"I know it sounds like I'm against you but I'm just being fair. I base my judgement on the facts that I know."

The facts that he know does not include my emotions. I feel like he always listens to me half-heartily. When he does listen, he's too busy trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind the things I tell him that he never sees what is hidden in plain sight: my plea for assurance.

"Well I guess you'll never hear my story then."