Over coffee I found out an old friend got married. And, acting accordingly to the Gen Y guidebook, I searched for him on Facebook. Just to see some happy wedding photos. But, he wasn’t on my list.
“Did he delete his account?”
Of course not. He deleted me.
Now there’s no denying we weren’t the best of buddies in the recent years. Our most recent meeting was at Tiesto. Was it last year? The year before that?
But you know what? We were good friends for a good long time. We were part of a default hangout bunch. We’ve had mamak sessions till the wee hours of the morning. We skipped school and almost missed some SPM exams together. Went to college together. Drank Saheep and Thai Song together. We attended punk gigs and video game orchestras. Memorised the words to every song on Weezer’s Blue Album.
So, really, what the fuck.
It’s not even about Facebook.
It’s about signing a “Do Not Resuscitate” form without telling me. Of course I knew our friendship was in stasis. Did I think it was brain dead and time to smother it with a pillow? Judging from how hurt I felt, I guess I didn’t.
I didn’t have to attend your wedding. I didn’t even need you to personally let me know. I would have just been happy to send an annoying one-word, all-caps SMS to congratulate you. If you would have let me.
Your girlfriend (now wife) gave me the tired “I’ve heard so much about you” when we first met. How funny that I remember that.
Give me your best shrug or sheepish grin. I doubt anything you do now could pain me more.