Confessions of someone who lost her best friend

I lost my best friend, but I was not sad. In fact, the feeling was liberating.

If you are stuck in an unhealthy friendship with a toxic friend, I hope you would have the courage to leave too.

We were friends through our first year in secondary school, and became best friends the following year. We were happy 14-year-olds whose lives revolved around school, K-pop idols, and Ramly burgers.

As we started secondary three however, we found the distance between us was growing. While we were both maturing, the innocence of young girls started to dissipate too.

She began exploring with make-up, fashionable outfits and the typical things adolescents kept themselves occupied with. Insecurities began to haunt her, making her conscious of her looks.

I had older sisters who passed those stages before, hence I was not keen in joining her. I thought that it was just a passing stage, until I realised how far she had drifted from the friendship.

There were many occasions where she brought up about my horrible, 13-year-old fashion sense to a group of friends. She even said things like: “I don’t know what she was wearing last time, but she looked old.”

I took it as a joke at first, but after knowing her, I sensed that there was underlying disgust in the remark.

She began gossiping about people both in and outside of our circle of friends, highlighting their flaws for all to hear. My ears bled whenever I listened to her, because I just did not feel right to talk behind a friends’ back.

However, I thought that this was what best friends were for – to share gossips and secrets with each other. I endured and listened to the badmouthing quietly… until I realised that she spilled my secrets to her then-boyfriend too.

I was losing my best friend, but I had no opportunity to talk to her because she often spent time at tuition or with her boyfriend. I became less bubbly and kept more to myself.

I grew increasingly conscious of my attire, behaviour, and even my eating habits. Her constantly condescending remarks like: “You don’t know how to use chopsticks la…” or “What are you doing?!” followed by looks of disgust did not make things any better.

As a picky eater, I often leave several things out when I dine outside. She found it weird, but I never thought it was a big deal as she did not mention it. One day, I found that she had described my dramatised eating habits on her blog – a clearly demeaning remark – albeit not mentioning my name.

After we left secondary school, we went separate ways and naturally grew apart. I tried to avoid meeting her too often, while she became closer to a bunch of old friends who could sustain her gossipy conversations.

I tried accepting her flaws, and endure the ceaseless torment, but I could not tolerate the pain of becoming best friends with a stranger who could not accept me.