I recently started my third year of university. In my first year, I lived in the dorms and got acquainted with the people who just so happened to be experiencing their Firsts at the same time.

Living in the dorms gave me unrivaled access to the intricacies of strangers’ lives. I tracked patterns of behavior and could reliably predict who I would run into at X at time Y during lunar cycle Z. I knew when and how often they showered. I knew when they brushed their teeth and when they engaged in their less healthy habits. I could predict the timestamps of their nights-out as well as what faces I would have to try to avoid during Friday and Saturday hallway pregames. Inebriated first week chatter led my sober mind to file their Hometown, First Times, and Fears beside my own catalogues of the new geography.

In truth, I regret not having tried. I regret dismissing the kindness of my neighbors as simple pleasantry. I grew up in an apartment building and thought it was easiest to masquerade with neighbors to avoid them turning into ghosts.

I felt nothing towards anyone and had no desire to entertain the prospect that there was anything worth pursuing hiding behind that next turn. I fell into relationships. I fell into groups. I fell into crowds I didn’t care for, but that occasionally reminded me to Wiggle My Toes and Blink.

The years of subconsciously constricting my toes and feelings were challenged by these habitual breaks. In retrospect, these breaks were repeated largely because they would inspire me to strengthen the constriction.

I have already discussed my limited ability to Wiggle My Toes during this time, so I won’t get into it. I would like to apologize to the Time I wasted trying so hard to flex hardened plaster. The Times I desperately wanted to escape and had convinced myself that my attempts were full-hearted.

There’s this one friendship I fell into with the Boy Who Lived Downstairs. He started out as Full but eventually drained. I enjoyed talking to him. He was funny in a way that softened his sharp passions. Eventually, it got to him. He realized his main friendships were built on habit, and if given the choice, they would ‘forget’ him. He realized that he wasn’t perfect; according to a Bona Fide Harvard Quiz, this First Generation Chinese Teenage Boy from Vancouver, BC dared to have an implicit bias for Chinese people over White people. I, a Second-Generation Brown Person, tested negative for any implicit bias. He would mention this a lot. He would claim that it had to be a fluke. Paranoia and spite and pessimism pierced the Boy Who Lived Downstairs. I fell in and out of friendship with the Boy Who Lived Downstairs. In retrospect, I don’t know why I kept diving back in when I knew that every time would have to be a further jump.

The Boy Who Lived Downstairs stayed with me for around a week the following school year; his lease started after the first day of class. He was uncomfortable, but I was his only option. He would store his luggage and spend most of his day in my world and then sleep with a friend-for-the-night who could provide him with a couch. He was uncomfortable. I was his last option. I had the flu but had to keep my world open in case he chose to window shop. I tried to rectify the comfort we had once found in each other, the confidence that only bloomed once everyone else had gone to bed. Conversations were no longer sharp and received. Any question was answered by a phrase of self-loathing and a shrug. He was Broken. He told me that he was Broken. If we were to add a third, he would choose to pierce me with the quirky shards that we had once painted into art pieces. We had both been progressively changing for the worse, but I didn’t want to let go. The Nights of Shattered Glass were put to an end by knocking on the door of The Boy Who Lived Downstairs.

After his lease was signed, we never spoke again. Apparently, I had done something cruel the previous year to upset him, it was just enough for him to use me as a storage facility and then disappear. He had shared my crime with mutual peers, but sadly I have only been made privy to the punishment.

Mystery, Hypocrisy, and Anger were the only things that bloomed that Fall.

I am now in my third year of university, and I’ve seen him on campus a few times. He was smiling. He looks happy. He looks content. I smile. I feel the satisfaction you get when someone fixes something you thought would be forever broken.

I am content with Having Known. I am happy with How I Know Him. I want him to never enter my world ever again.