christography

I’ve been the shoulder to cry on (both literally, and otherwise) since my early years in school. Classmates would call in the middle of the night, to talk till the wee morning hours, friends from another school would meet up with me just to be able to talk and cry. I don’t know why, but it seems people think of me as someone they can trust, or can share with. Either that, or I look like a sponge.

Years ago, I’ve realized that I’ve never quite had the need to cry on anyone’s shoulder.

Quite recently, I’ve had needs for a friend that I could call or to cry to… and found that I didn’t have any shoulders that I can call to cry on.

The years growing up since my school days have been wrought with “friends” that would play me out. “Friends” that would stab me on my back. “Friends” that would see me suffer as much as they are, just so they’d feel better. “Friends” that would use me and dump me. “Friends” who forgets what thankful means. “Friends” with the freaking quotation marks.

Still, I hold out for real friends. It’s strange when I heard from an acquaintance “I’m just surprise that you still believe in the human kind.”

Maybe, just maybe I need a shoulder to cry on. 

“I’m really not in the mood to shoot.” 

True enough. I see a dried up squashed snake under the straw carpet in my room. This is the hopefully the end. 

“Now, what will Annie Lebovitz do in this situation?”