The Chinese character for friendship is 友. The pictograph of this character consists of two hands next to each other. Both reaching up together, fingers wide, ready to close up and collect all the stars. The pair of hands is collecting all the stars to paint the dark sky a golden daylight together.
My best friend, Nina, was probably the first person I ever invited to my home. She wasn’t my best friend back then. Not yet. But I felt this warmth from her that no label of “best friend” had ever made me feel. Perhaps, the reason I never invited my friends over was because I was worried they would make fun of the horde of plastic bags near our trash can or the mismatched collection of couches and tables handed down by my grandparents.
In fourth grade, during a holiday party right before winter break, my mom came to volunteer for my class, bringing my sister along because she wasn’t old enough to go to school yet, and there was no one else to look after her. We were all sitting in a small group, decorating cookies with overly sweet icing and color-bleeding sprinkles, and my teacher came over to give my little sister a small chair so she could sit next to me. She was adorable, so everyone loved her. Taking a glance at my sister, a close friend at that time, Liz, pulled her eyes to the side, puckered her lips and giggled to another classmate. My sister just looked down, quiet and scared.
At that time, I was too afraid of Liz to say anything back. I didn’t understand it as a microaggression, but it felt so terrible. I felt a heated pit in my heart. It wasn’t a warm feeling. It burned me, inciting tears and fury. If I couldn’t protect my family from this friend in the classroom, how would I protect my family’s cozily mismatched home from them? So, I never invited anyone there, striking a line between school and home, until I met Nina.
I met Nina in freshman year of high school in P.E. class. I was still super shy, never the first one to talk to people,…
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