(ED note: This post is dediCATed to six very good friends who has a big part of my soul forever, three of whom will never see this, three that might not)  

Someone made a random comment that got me thinking about friends in general. I don’t have a lot of friends, but those I have I trust with my life. These aren’t colleagues, friends of friends, acquaintances or random people I know. These are people who I’ve been through something with, people I can share anything with, and know they will always be there for me. That when I call them a friend.  

I have two really rigid moral values; I never lie and I never steal. And this is two values I expect my friends to keep to. And they shouldn’t ignore me, or shove me out of their lives, if they ever want me to stay a friend.  

I also invest a lot of my time in friends. I give a part of my soul to each friend. I will do anything I can, even getting myself in trouble, to give a friend everything they need or want. I don’t do sympathy, but I do empathy. Every pain they have is my pain too, every happy moment makes my life shining too. If someone ever wants to really hurt me, they need to just do something to my friends. Because through and with my friends you can break me.  

With a friend I’m intensely interested in them. I want to know everything about them. I want to know how they think, what their favourite food is, even their favourite colour, what they look for in a potential partner. This isn’t to be all stalkerish, this is me being purely so interested. Yes I take friendship rather seriously.  

But now I get hurt easily, very often by these very friends. They belittle the friendship, misunderstand my intentions and sometimes they just generally hurt me by keeping things hidden that might make me understand or feel better at their pain. It happens, sometimes intentionally, sometimes unintentionally and sometimes they do not really care even when they know they will hurt me.  

The thing is, it’s easy to get to be a friend of me, but when you rip out that part of my soul I willingly gave you, you lost that chance. I don’t take second chances on friendships. When you hurt me so bad, you lose that lifetime-membership to be my friend. And very often, people that hurt me badly think that when I finally start talking to them again and act slightly civilized that all’s been forgotten. But I have to be honest…it’s not. That gash you made in me is something I’ll clench on, wrapping my arms tight around my chest late in the darkness of the night. Even when you try to glue back the piece of soul you ripped out of me, I can’t trust you. I can’t share my feelings, my moods, my inner being. You’ll be an acquaintance. And will you know? I know not. Except I know that one day you will see something is wrong with me, and I will tell you “It’s nothing, I’m fine”. Maybe then you’ll realise that you lost that chance. Maybe you’ll never realise. I actually hope it’s that, because any pain you feel I’ll still feel, I can’t help it.  

I know I have trust issues with people. But I have decided what each person deserves in this world, is a chance for me to trust them. It’s nobody’s fault that somewhere a long time ago someone taught me trust is worthless. But I can’t offer more than one chance per person. So if you convince me that you can’t play open cards with me, then you’ve made your choice.  

I was willing to be anything, to do anything to keep your friendship. I would have been the most supporting, the best friend ever. The one who never lies to you, the one that carries your best interests on her heart, the one listening to your confidences and filing it away very deep so no one can access it. The one that would never be shocked at your deepest darkest secrets, the one never making fun of  your shortcomings, the one only wanting the best for you in your life.

What did you do with that opportunity?

Yeah you heard it right, I’m angry at Him. Angry for making me like I am.

I’m mainly angry at him for the chipped and broken vessel he put my soul in. The one with the teeth that I spent a fortune on, and still my brittle teeth break when I eat anything chewy or hard. The one with the curved backbone I was born with that leaves me with occasional twinges. The sinuses that pester me during autumn and spring, the migraines in the summer, the deficient immune system which makes every winter a continuous battle against whatever new colds are in my environment, the diabetes, low blood pressure making me feel faint often, brittle hair and nails that break. I believe he gave me all this ailments for a reason, and me stopping being angry at him won’t take away all these. Else why did he give it to me in the first place? Every day I feel myself dying, feel myself getting weaker, my will to live fading, my energy required to keep on fighting to stay alive drying up. I see people with perfect health praising the Lord...it’s easy to do that then, right?

People around me that call themselves good Christians have no lack of money. They can buy that expensive religious course...they can go to another continent on missionary expeditions costing thousands of dollars...money which could have fed a lot of people here at home...people that pray to God for some food to give their children. I’ve met truly pious Christians who have people paying for their homestead and supporting them and their kids while they lack nothing, those same people berating me about my religion. Can only the rich then truly be Christian? Why does God then grace these people, while they make me ashamed to call myself Christian?

For 26 years I believed God should have given me some talents...rather I hoped He had. Still today, I can’t tell you that I’m really good at anything. Anything that I’m really truly gifted with...and I’m not saying the best, or even second best...rating myself within top 25 with something between the people I know would have sufficed. How can I use my talents to further God’s will when I don’t even think I have talents, despite all the things I’ve tried and attempted?

I do count my blessings and I am aware that nothing majorly bad has happened to me or to my friends and family. I am not rich, but still I have a job and I can afford to live.

Through that all I still am angry at Him.

In the space of two years I’ve gone from mid-back long hair to almost - but just short (pun unintended) of it – shoulder length.

And I’ve had several guys (including my dad) ask me why I have short hair...why did I cut my hair...it was so beautiful (with a wistful sigh added to the end of this normally). So this post will be the one I refer them to if they ask me the question...again *deep sigh*

Because they just imagine running their fingers through my hair, the strands silkily slipping through their fingers...wait! If you tried doing that your fingers would be so entangled in the crow’s nest that my hair became with anything touching it...including a gust of wind. We would have to get the scissors out and cut your fingers free!

Yeah it was beautiful...it took aaaaages to get it that way. Me saying I can’t go out I need to wash my hair wasn’t me blowing off a guy, it was the truth. Careful shampooing, conditioning, leave-in conditioning, untangling spray...and then we haven’t even started the process! Never mind that it cost me a fortune in hair products. Then we would start the blow-drying which would take an hour and a half. Straightening followed which was another 2 hours. During this I used special straightening spray which I swore they put gold dust in, since a small bottle of that would cost the equivalent of a whole month’s groceries. After that it would be okay to go outside, bar any humidity, rain, hail, wind, or pollen (me sneezing would undo everything)

Now tell me I shouldn’t do my hair? Then my hair would take its’ own shape in a floating cloudy mess of brown-reddish fine curls that resisted any effort to go into any kind of style until flattened down with copious amounts of water and conditioner. Then it will lay tight against my head normally fastened back in a rubber band or curled back against itself in a bun. I didn’t get the boarding-school nickname of Einstein because of my brains you know!

Also, it defined my personality. I couldn’t enjoy the sun, because I knew what it was doing to my hair. I couldn’t swim in swimming pools or in the sea without drenching my hair in conditioner first. I couldn’t drive with the window fully opened on a hot summer’s day because the thought of the resultant tangles would push me into having a panic attack. You couldn’t dunk me or throw me in a swimming pool at a party, because I would walk around with a stuffy nose for the next three weeks if I didn’t get out immediately and dry my hair. I wouldn’t go out on spontaneous outings; because it might be the day I have to wash my hair. I used to slam my hair in doors. I hated rainy days almost as much as humid days, because of the damage it would do to my hairstyle. My hair was brittle, dull, damaged no matter what expense damage control I did on it. My hair used to spend its’ days fastened in a bun at the nape of my neck.

I started cutting it...and it was the beginning of the end. I spent less time doing my hair, and more time outside. I could change my hair colour, because I could actually afford it, I only needed two packets of dye...not three or four! I started doing more with my hair, changing styles, trying new things. I used the time I saved on trying out new shades of make-up. I could pack for a weekend away in a weekend bag and leave the hairdryer at home. I stopped burning out hairdryers with the same amount of power as our lawnmower!

My hair is shinier, healthier, and more manageable. You could actually run your fingers through it. I style it in 30 minutes for a fancy do, 15 minutes for work. I look more professional, more grown-up, less school-going age. I have more money, less stress, more spontaneity, more time...

I’m happy with it just the way it is. And if you’re not, please come closer so I can hit you with something.