The last time I saw you, you had a lot on your plate. I refrained from calling out your name in the midst of traffic, nervous that you might not recognize me, or perhaps you would but wouldn’t respond. After all, shouting out names in public can make one seem a bit eccentric, don’t you think? Do you remember when we were inseparable, sharing everything about our lives? We spent countless hours dreaming about our futures, discussing love, crushes, and weekend plans. Those days, which I fondly refer to as our ‘glorious days,’ felt carefree and boundless—like a vast ocean with no hardships in sight. The memories flooded back as if they were yesterday, but alas, they were not.
We lost touch after you moved away, despite our promises to remain best friends for life. Life had its own plans for us, and you were always ambitious, with dreams mapped out. Meanwhile, I found myself in the same place, with the same job and the same circle of acquaintances, living a rather mundane existence. Sometimes, I envied the life you seemed to lead—a perfect family, good friends, extravagant parties, weekends at the beach, brunches and dinners in upscale restaurants, and a wardrobe full of fashionable attire. I often likened your life to a breathtaking sunset viewed from a high cliff, sophisticated and full of beauty.
I once caught a glimpse of you near a popular bookstore. I was juggling a small, torn pouch on my left and a hefty old book in my right hand, struggling to keep it balanced. I wore ill-fitting glasses, high-waisted jeans, and an oversized t-shirt stained with an old wine, along with sneakers that had seen better days. I used the book as a shield to hide my face and the chaos of my life from you. Disheartened by my own reflection, I turned back for one last look at you. You appeared radiant—like a supermodel on the cover of Vogue or Forbes. If only I could have captured that moment in a song; it would surely be played on repeat for a million years. Your allure was unmistakable, easily spotted in any crowd.
I thought I saw you often, even if it wasn’t in person. I would browse your Facebook and Instagram profiles repeatedly. Your photos filled me with joy and pride, though I admit I often felt envious. I grew tired of merely observing your life from a distance, yearning for the genuine conversations we used to have. So, after taking time to reflect on our friendship, I decided to call out your name—and thank goodness I did. Your face lit up in a way I hadn’t seen in any of your pictures, and my own expression mirrored your surprise. We had so much to catch up on, and I was exhilarated at the prospect of sharing our lives again.
Then came the devastating news of your disappearance. I was shattered. They said you were nowhere to be found; you hadn’t left a goodbye or a thank-you note—just vanished into thin air, like a breeze on a hot summer day. But where had you gone? With whom? Why? So many questions remained unanswered. Now, after a decade of your absence, I’m slowly piecing together the answers, and perhaps it’s high time I do so. For years, I thought I was seeing you, but in truth, I had not. Now I realize that everything you did was merely a facade, one that your friends and family—including myself—interpreted as a fulfilling life.
We all assumed you were busy pursuing what you loved. However, in reality, you were concealing your true self beneath the achievements and lifestyles society celebrates. You buried your grand dreams beneath the weight of expectations, little by little. Now, I see that you practiced the art of fading away gracefully. You became adept at transforming your struggles into a semblance of contentment. I understand that mastering self-concealment is no easy feat—I’ve tried and failed each time—but you succeeded. I wonder how, because I thought I knew you well (you always spoke your mind without hesitation). I doubt others perceive how clearly I see you now, but trust me, I do. I see how your innocence was stripped away by the demands of those around you.
I still recall our pact to never marry unless it was to someone straight out of a fairytale, someone from the poems and love songs you wrote. I realize now that a part of your dream was taken when they pushed you into a well-off family. Your poetry and dreams transformed into something dark and frightening. I see it all now, like a vivid film.
You walked with your head held high, yet underneath, you felt shame and disgust, covering it all with glasses and hats—not for fashion, but as a mask. People praised your superficial accomplishments, oblivious to the depths of your struggles. Unlike in your dreams, it wasn’t your own desires driving you, but the expectations of others, slowly poisoning your self-will. I see your once-sparkling face stiffen as you are brought back to reality. When you made great strides towards so-called ‘success’, you sacrificed the small victories that truly mattered. They saw your confidence, but I see your fear and uncertainty. Your hopes were stifled as you rode in those fancy cars, and it all came together for me: I cannot unsee the battles you fought alone, like a superhero in a DC movie.
Now I understand why you vanished so abruptly—it was a daily practice for you. If only I had recognized the signs of your struggles within the facade of contentment, I would have reached out or perhaps vanished alongside you. I wish I could have seen through your mask as I once did. I wish I had been there for you, the friend I was meant to be. If only I had gathered the courage to approach you, unafraid of judgment. Now, as time has slipped away, I am left with a multitude of ifs, maybes, and regrets. Setting aside my sorrow, I hope you are somewhere safe and truly happy. I pray that those around you see the real you—not just the surface you present. I believe that after the sunset, there will be a new dawn. I hold onto the hope that we will meet again soon, and I promise not just to see you then.
