There’s no such thing as writer’s block when you face it everyday; it becomes a part of your life, and you just end up with a conclusion that you are incapable of thinking and you are not exactly a bright person.

The truth is, most of the times, I do have piles of topics to babble about, but the reason why I leave them in a dusty corner of my mind is because they are too personal. As stupid and cowardly this might sound, it scares me to imagine what people would think of me if I revealed all my thoughts in words. I’m afraid of people getting to know me, the real me.

HOWEVER, I’m going to start with a very personal story today that even my family has never heard of, but enough time has passed since then and I don’t think it would hurt anybody especially myself, to share this now.

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Dear. my bullies in 8th grade

Hi there, don’t take me wrong. I’m only writing this to show my gratitude. When I was in 8th grade, I was bullied by you guys, probably around 20 to 30 people, ex-best friends to be exact, as I remember. It was not because I have done something wrong, but it was a time when everything and everyone were changing, and it all depended on whether you wanted to change with them or stay as who you were; I chose the latter and it was the consequence I expected. I was selfish enough to choose my life over friends.

I had no friends in school for a while, and by no friends, I mean zero people. You guys were waiting in front of my house, school, and random streets in town, to throw mean words at me, expecting me to throw something back, but I did not break down in front of you guys, not even once. I neither smiled nor cried. I remember how you said, “look how she’s pretending to be calm and cool and all” in my back.

Well, every morning before I went to school, I looked at myself in the mirror, told myself to stay strong, waved my mom good bye, and gave her an assuring smile that everything was okay; after coming home from school, I cried with a blanket stuck in my mouth so that my sister couldn’t hear me, and made sure I squeezed all the tears out of myself before mom came home.

A month passed by like that, and I got used to this life; I was numb to any pain, hatred, anger, or loneliness. I was fearless with nothing to lose, and felt almost infinite. I had emotionally matured thanks to you guys, and learned a lesson that at the end of the day, all you have is yourself, but nobody, and that’s why I worked so hard to better myself. And it seemed like you guys got sick of making fun of me. I saw you found somebody new to torture. I didn’t feel bad for that poor girl, but felt good that my time was over.

I no longer despised any of you guys, but promised myself that after years and decades, I would live a better life and this will all be an interesting story to share over dinner table. My blog is not exactly a dinner table but I hope you are reading this while munching on your take out dinner.

That same month, my boy friend died of stomach cancer. I hadn’t seen him for over 6 months since he went back to London. That’s when old me died, and turned into a completely different person. My friends right now have no idea what a depressing and depressed person I was back then.

I got anorexic, lost 30 pounds which I gained all back in the coming years. There I had to confront people who blamed me for his death, for how I was never there for him, and how I always complained and whined about my miserable life without him, and his selfishness to go to England without telling me first.

“You killed Winston,” they said. I lost another group of friends.

After a while, I made new friends in school who knew the truth. And you came to my desk one day, smiling – oh, what a disgusting fake smile you had -, and asked me if I could help you with your math homework. I remember just staring at you for 5 seconds. Then you said, “You know, I never really hated you, it’s my friends who kinda made me do it.” There I learned another lesson that people make fucked up poisonous choices to get whatever they need, and I thought to myself again, ‘I always need to watch out for myself.’

I don’t remember much of what happened with you afterwards, and even if I did, it must be irrelevant to the theme of this letter. Few years later I heard that you didn’t actually make it to university and got pregnant.

I used to be a shy girl who couldn’t voice up for myself, for nobody in fact, thinking that silence could mean thousand words and somebody would still understand me. I stayed silent and lost everything I had back then, partly thanks to you. I stayed silent and sought help from nobody, thinking that somebody would still hear me. I stayed silent and didn’t say it out loud that it’s not my fault. I stayed silent, hoping that my scars would heal itself.

Thanks to you, I am better at dealing with people, situations, and the kind of disappointments they would give me. No matter what kind of mental people I encounter with, or what kind of mistakes I see people making, I would just laugh it over, saying, “oh well, these things happen, I’ve seen worse.”

And I would always be the first one to question, to shout out what I want, or what I hate, and to say thank you, sorry, or love you. Ironically enough, you have made me grow into a very secure, and competent being. You turned my life around, and for that, I owe you the world.

I have no idea what the heck you are doing now, but I hope all is well, and we get to see each other one day. I will give you a genuine warm hug.

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Stella Ko

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