my friend who happens to be a nun

sometimes it feels like the entire world attended some 101 class that i just happened to miss out on. feeling like i was on the outside looking into some club that i missed the initiation of was a common feeling i had growing up. peering through the condensation, confused about how it was so easy for others to get along, how they all naturally clicked into friendships. i was an intense kid. how i interacted with others wasn't normal, which would often result in me pushing away other children i yearned connections from. wanting to feel valued and a part of a group but not having the self-awareness to achieve this feat was an incredibly confusing experience. it felt like the more i would try to grasp at any type of closeness, the colder it got on the outside, growing a thicker fog between me and my peers. looking back on my childhood it's clear to me now that i craved connection and validation to the point where i would hold onto any attention i could, and when it wasn't given to me, i would snatch it from others. this behaviour extended to aspects outside of making friends as well. i would routinely interrupt class, constantly speak over teachers, regurgitate swear words i saw on tv for a reaction ( this one time i called my teacher a lesbian cause i saw it on friends or something ) and would throw acorns at cars that would pick children up. the fact that this was a catholic primary school did not help. i remember my desk was literally in the principal's office for a portion of a year. i had to drag it all the way from my normal class, probably cause i called some other teacher a lesbian. i would lash out and try pull reactions out of people because i felt alone, just to be punished and further isolated. not saying i didn't deserve any of it, just pointing out how regressive the situation was. 

i remember one lunchtime though, it actually felt like i made a genuine friend. the lunch started with the normal routine where i would feel terrified to ask the boys playing football if i could play as well, which would often lead to a - "It's not my ball, ask him" 15 times. basically, a polite way to say, we don't want you to play (completely understandable, I'd usually pick up the ball and just run cause i thought it was funny - till they stopped letting me play) being dismissed i ended up wandering around the school looking for other things to do. i ended up kicking some random football by myself and booting it through the hedge of some neighbour's property. being that this school was Catholic, the people who lived surrounding the school were actually nuns. right after the ball smashed through the hedge damaging the greenery i ran. an old woman yelled at me to stop and normally i'd ignore it and keep running, but my heels seemed to obey her commands. she told me to come back, she wasn't mad, she just wanted to speak to me. i felt seen. i can't remember the conversation we had exactly, but she talked to me as an equal, not down to me. she didn't care about her hedge. she didn't even care that i ran. she was open to what i had to say. it was one of the only times i felt like i finally took a step inside, and no longer had to peer in from a distance, it felt like i was finally a part of some club. we talked the entire lunchtime. she asked about my classes, i asked about her life, and the conversation naturally led itself along. at the end of lunch i grabbed my ball and said bye, it seemed like she was as pleased to find a new friend just as i was. walking back to class (the principal's office where my desk was) i felt a sense of relief, a place where i could go that was open, and to a friend who was just as willing to connect as i was.

a couple days later i was sitting in the principal's office and he was standing above me holding a letter that seemed to puzzle him. it was a letter from the nun. for a bit of context, nuns can send letters of recommendation to specific students, but they're incredibly rare, and almost no one ever gets one. he places the letter on my desk and in a confused tone he explains the magnitude of the letter. i guess he was tripping over the thought of me, the kid that goes around calling teachers lesbians, was getting a letter of recommendation from a nun. he explained to me what it was. he also mentioned that the nun who sent it had passed away. she sent that letter right before she died. i only got to speak to her once. (i still have the letter to this day)

it felt like the universe was mocking me. i didn't know what to think. i was too young to completely grasp the idea of death, yet the weight within my chest hung as deep as it would today. looking back on it she was probably as lonely as me. looking from the outside in herself. although the age gap and life experience were on polar opposites, for that one lunchtime i felt utterly understood. i like to think she did aswell.