“Don’t you dare ditch me for Hector!” she warned teasingly. “Don’t put love over friendship, okay?”
It's comforting. At least my childhood friend Kim doesn’t dislike me the way Hector does.
The year I woke up, Kim had left for the United States to pursue graduate school. We hadn’t seen each other since, and we only exchanged occasional messages on Instagram.
I missed her terribly.
The truth is, I’m afraid of loneliness. I crave love and connection, but it feels as though I was born unlovable. My parents always favored my lively sister, while my friends would quickly grow tired of my reserved nature and move on to more exciting companions.
The fake Edna, on the other hand, was the opposite. She was magnetic, effortlessly charming everyone around her. In just two years, she built a large circle of friends.
When I first returned, people reached out, eager to meet. I accepted every invitation, brimming with hope. But I soon realized I couldn’t keep up with their enthusiasm. I didn’t share their passion for classical music history, idols, or celebrities. And unlike the fake Edna, I couldn’t command attention in a crowd or charm them with ease.