Chronicles of a Teenage Moron.

Every great story that has any profound meaning in this world relies on one lasting element of storytelling: The Quest. The first written story ever discovered involves the vigilance of Gilgamesh on his journey for immortality. King Arthur and his fellow knights spent countless years on the search for the Holy Grail. Me? All I have truly ever searched for is the highest of any social implication. The heart and soul of my inner being, the always forgiving and understanding counterpart, my ally against the world, the jelly to my peanut butter; my best friend. I can safely say that though it is of highest yearning that I obtain this being of grandeur, the lengths of which I have been searching have been minimal. Though I want nothing more than the Pooh to my Christopher Robin, Chewbacca to my Han Solo, or the Marie to my Donny Osmond, I have done nothing but scorn at those who have what I do not. Rather than actively solidifying my own friendships, I took up the annoying pretense of jealousy whenever I so much as witnessed two friends comfortable enough to share the same beverage. You may assume than, that I was both far too high-strung, slightly unstable, or a bit of a prat. I’d concede that I just might have been a bit of all three. Thankfully, it is safe to say that I haven’t always been this way and may or may not have once had the super rare best friend already in my possession. I know, shocking. It all started back in 1st grade…
The first day of school is one of those classic moments in life that you know you’re just never going to forget…unfortunately for me, I forgot everything only just a few years later. I suppose, as an oblivious six year old, the inner workings of school life just doesn’t matter all that much. Not to mention that I couldn’t possibly comprehend the fact that all of these years later, my life would STILL be predominately based upon my schooling. That child back in the 1st grade would have found this absolutely ridiculous, and would have thought that the ridiculing of her fellow classmates was far more troublesome.
My hair French braided with my favorite Minnie Mouse binders, the small plaid uniform dress hanging most uncomfortably on my body, and my small hand clutching a pink lunchbox featuring an epic visual of Mickey Mouse, the heroic knight, rescuing Minnie; I entered the beginning of the rest of my life most awkwardly. As I am now, I know I was most shy. I believe I took my seat immediately, possibly escorted by hugs and kisses of encouragement from my mother, which I still treasure accordingly to this day. I didn’t know anyone in class except for the bubbly blonde head of curls sitting somewhere close by. Her name was Rikki, and our mothers had been acquaintances when we went through the same kindergarten school before transferring here though never meeting before now. We became instant friends and were inseparable once the bell for recess sounded.
Though I remember quite clearly how I met Rikki, one case still leaves me quite confused to this day. There was one other similarly quirky character in our class and before I could even consciously recognize what I remember now as a small bespectacled little Asian boy with a precise bowl cut of jet-black hair; Trung had already conquered our hearts and all three of us were instantly one. Perhaps the universe had re-aligned, and our souls were always fated to meet, forever journeying together toward a common path through salvation and peace throughout the world. Or, you know, they both thought my lunchbox was really cool. I know I did.
Since our somewhat less than memorable meeting, the three of us had begun to weave our own world together. Instead of playing soccer with all of the normal kids, we were rather more inclined to open our own snow sculpture shop, act as security guards patrolling the entrance to a giant mountain of ice, and re-enact our favorite episodes of Pokemon. Everyone around us thought we were all a bit bonkers, but we knew the truth; One day very soon, we were going to conquer the world with an army of cheese and then everybody would be sorry.
Unfortunately, our schemes were put to an abrupt standstill when I left the school during the summer before entering 5th grade due to considerably questionable acts by the school’s daycare service. I never got to wish my cohorts good luck or partake in a teary goodbye; instead, I had simply vanished and never showed up on the first day of 5th grade. For all Rikki and Trung could have known, I probably got my letter to Hogwarts as I had always said I would.
After that sudden transition in my life where I entered the public school system full throttle, it seems that I left a part of myself behind. I went through the rest of my middle school years in a daze, with no real friends that I could ever ‘play’ with. I was desperate for somebody, who I could rely on, to journey to that other world with me. Years passed and that world began to fade. I began making my way through life with the support of simple friends, living through an existence where I was merely content, not exactly living up to my old standards. It wasn’t until the fall of my sophomore year of high school that Fate finally stepped in. Once more in service to the greater good of the world and all those poor souls in need of the heroes it once so greatly revered, Fate had finally put it all right. Or, you know, Fate just honestly thought my lunchbox was really cool.

I remember sitting on my computer chair one afternoon staring avidly at the monitor about to check my MySpace like any other day when I clicked curiously on a new pending friend request. Time froze as I stared at the hand drawn profile picture of my would be friend, my heart stopping as my brain insisted that it couldn’t possibly be who I thought it was. For years, he never left my thoughts, always sitting smugly in the back of my mind, waving at me animatedly. I had imagined him on many occasions, even bringing myself to believe that he attended my own school, which wasn’t hard to do seeing as I had not seen the boy in 6 years. But this hand drawn picture…looked exactly how I had imagined the boy would look 6 years later. With a shaky hand, I moved the mouse to the message accompanied by the request and read:
“It’s been quite a few years…
But I hope you remember me!
The gay Asian kid…minus the glasses and some of the fat…
Ring any bells?
It’s Trung!”
I think that moment alone pushed everything back into perspective for me. Within seconds, I was beside myself with tears of pure joy. Suddenly, I was me again. Like a puzzle, you’ve just about completed it but there’s just that one annoying little piece that you have no idea where it went? You’re literally tearing up the house looking for it but it’s no use because your dog has gone and eaten it when you weren’t looking? Trung was that pesky little regurgitated puzzle piece that I was longing for my whole life. Even after the 6 years of absence in each other’s lives, it was as if he was always there. Everything that I was ever looking for, everything that I had ever wanted was sitting there staring me in the face.

So it turned out for me that my quest for a best friend was completely in vain. I was presented with my best friend early on in life just as I hoped I would. I was searching for something specific, not realizing that it was someone not something that I was looking for. My comfort and security was with Trung all this time, and here I was, scorning others when I myself had shared something just as precious and had not realized it until it all came rushing back at me. I have always had a best friend, and he has always been with me in some shape or form. Now when I see two friends planning the takeover of Australia lead by a maniacal force of Ninjas, I can’t help but smile. I have my ally against the world, the jelly to my peanut butter, and all I can hope for is that everyone does too.

((Nov. 2008))