Even in the happiest of places, you can’t escape pain. In the time I least expected it, he let go. I’ve never forgotten the hurt of that betrayal, an act so selfish it nearly cost my life. As I tumbled along, nauseated and without sense of direction, I thought to myself, I never even got to say goodbye.

I always thought that the United States was one of the most beautiful places in the world. A wonderful road trip across the Wild West of the Americas left me dazzled and awestruck. But of course, as beautiful as this country was, it did not feel as safe and secure as my home. It did not feel as friendly and cozy as the little dens I had played around with my friends in. It was full of danger, a thorn hiding behind every rose, ferocious claws hidden beneath the eagle’s majestic wings. And that, as painful as it was, was how I was treated by the ones I hold closest.

I lived in Pasadena, California. The West Coast was one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen, full of wonder and opportunity. I had once thought before that living just a few minutes from Hollywood would give me a chance to do become famous, but I was just a naive little boy then, not knowing about the difficulties and trials of adult life. I always felt like living in the U.S was better than living in Chiang Mai, Thailand, but I really missed my friends. My friends here were good friends, even though they were hard on me sometimes, making fun of my ethnicity and other juvenile jokes. I didn’t really care, they were friends that I could trust. Or so I had thought.

The first day at school here flew by in a flash. I was only in 3rd grade, I didn’t know anybody. But back then, I trusted everyone to become my friend and be nice to me. That was my life before I came here. Luckily for me, I was a “nice” and “cute” enough boy that everyone decided not to bully me. Except for one guy, and in the end, he turned out to become my closest friend. I guess I had an affinity of attracting the meanest people and making them my friends. You see, he had one of the most dysfunctional families that I knew of. Whenever I came over, his mother and father would fight, a bottle of beer or some other alcoholic substance in his father’s hands. His mother would be holding some important documents and papers, frantically waving it around her head as she argued with her spouse. However, when they both saw me, they would immediately stop, smile, and ask how I’m doing. It was just the mother really, with her sweet Mexican accent. My friend and I would then quickly run off to our room and we would play on the game station. This was our routine.

One day, my friend and I were swimming in the little pool at the apartment, and he said something that I would never forget. “Atin, are you my real friend?” If you’ve ever asked that question, you would know that it is a very tremendous question. Without a doubt, I replied,” I would always be your friend no matter what.” I looked at him, he was dead serious. I could tell that things in his home were not going very well, and that he needed a friend. I looked straight in his eyes and said,” If you need anything, I will always be there to help.” He smiled, and inside me, I found a real friend. Or thought I found a real friend. It would turn out later, that not every feeling would be returned. I learned that the hard way.

My mom calls me a little loyal, faithful dog, and even though the word “dog” out of that context would be insulting, I felt that she was complimenting me. In the little urban town of Pasadena, I did not have many opportunities to meet many people other than at a community center, so of course I would make my time with my friends the best I could. I felt like I was the best friend a person could have; I was nice and kind even when I didn’t feel that way, I gave up my time to do anything for someone in need, and I always talked nice and politely. For a while, I felt good about myself. Until my first “heartbreak” occurred. I was as loyal as a dog, and when my friends started to stop spending time with me, I was torn down. That was my first memorable experience of being so depressed, and it only got worse from there.

Eventually, everyone moved on. Everyone except for me, of course. When all my friends met new friends, it was hard for me to accept that they didn’t want to be with me anymore. But it wasn’t all that bad. I still had my one best friend. And I still get to swim at the pool in his apartment, so I was happy. Life then was good. Stress-free and full of adventure, I got a childhood most boys would beg for. Even though I had very few friends and even fewer friends who were willing to spend time with me, I was content. I was one of those introverts who could deal with anything, especially since I had an amazing imagination. So with all these wonderful “blessings”, as I call my uniqueness, I was content. For the time being, of course, because what would a good story be without a good, heart-wrenching emotional conflict?

As the time came near for me to leave the United States and return back to Thailand, my family decided to spend their time wisely. We took a road trip from California to Nevada, Arizona, Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, all the way to South Dakota and back. When we returned to California, we had about a month or so. It was also my turn to pick the activity for our family. I chose the beach, of course. I love swimming, I love the sun, and I absolutely love water. So we went down to the beach, along with my best friend. It was a warm, sunny day. Children were blissfully running around, building sand castles and jumping over waves. My friend and I were one of those children. We decided that we should go swimming in the ocean this time, and so we headed down to Huntington Beach, near Los Angeles. As I had said before, my friend is a big, big boy. I literally looked up to him, and I also expected him to protect me. I was a small, chubby boy who was tall in comparison to the average Southeast Asian. Tall there was about average here in the U.S. So anyways, we lept into the murky brown waters. I remember that day was very clear, without very many clouds in the sky. I also remember that the waves were unusually high, and that they were able to crash on top of me and probably drown me too. I obviously didn’t care, because I had a big friend to protect me. Well, a big friend who was around me while he played with some other friends.
I remember looking at them, a group of boys and girls dancing merrily in the turbulent waters. We kept swimming further and further out into the ocean, no longer keeping track of our distance from the shore. All of the sudden, I remember being pulled out into the ocean. Back then, I was still a pretty strong swimmer. I attempted to swim back to the shore, but the current that pulled me was much too strong, and I ended up being blinded by the saltiness of the waves. I looked around for my friend, and I grabbed him as soon as I collided into him. I knew we were both thinking the same thing, so we attempted to leap from the sand until we reached the shore. After a long while, I grew tired. Very tired. That was probably the reason that my friend let go of me. And I never forgot that.

In my direst time of need, the person that I looked up to to help me had let go of me. I was shattered, but I didn’t really care much anymore, because the waves were battering me so much I thought I would drown anyways. I stopped swimming, and I stopped panicking. I felt like crying like the little boy I was, but I couldn’t because I was blinded by the salty waves. So I let go. I stopped clinging to hope, and just floated like a piece of trash in the violent ocean. I honestly expected to just end my life there. However, I suddenly felt a very violent jerk on my shoulder. I had thought it was a shark, but I felt no pain. I remember thinking about how a sharkbite would just cut up your nerves and how you wouldn’t feel that much pain. With that being said and thought, I never looked up at my shoulder. My eyes were still squeezed shut. And of course, I didn’t want to look at what I thought would be the remains of a mangled arm. But instead of being eaten up, I felt some strong things wrapping around my body. It was then that I knew the thing that had jarred me from my death-acceptance trance wasn’t a shark. It was a man. I was surprised by how quickly he reached me, especially since I couldn’t even see the shore. Actually, I was surprised that anyone would have seen me and bothered to jump in to save me at all, really. When I realized that I wasn’t going to die after all, though, I quickly clung to the man’s sturdy arms while he swam back to shore, with my in his arms. By the time we reached the shore, I had already transitioned into post-trauma mode, and I just sat down, bewildered and staring at the ground.

Immediately, without even thanking the man who saved me, I asked if anyone knew where my buddy was. My dad pointed to the beach, and there he was, sitting with some friends on the shore. I was jealous at how normal they looked, and how they laughed and played in the waves. Most of all, I felt a really irrational anger at my friend for just deserting me. I felt betrayed, and also very, very sad. My brain was mush of anger, fear, trauma, and confusion. I mean, I nearly drowned and possibly could have died, right? And nobody even helped, except for the keen-eyed man (who I later found out to be a lifeguard that I thought looked like Superman.) So, betrayed, upset, and very, very wet, I decided to leave. My parents understood, and they probably watched their son bob helplessly in the waves, so we packed up and headed for the car. I wanted to leave my friend so that he could play with his other friends, but I knew it was extremely rude to just leave someone. My parents did too, and that was probably the only reason that I took him along. He acted like nothing had happened, and he probably didn’t know that he betrayed my trust. But being the loyal “dog” that I was, I couldn’t bring myself to confront him. Instead, I smiled at him, just like I smiled at everyone else.

For a very long time, I did not trust anyone. You could say that this was irrational thinking, but wait until you experience an extremely traumatic situation. Strangely though, I wasn’t afraid of the ocean, or sharks. In fact, I still love swimming, water, and the ocean. However, what I truly was afraid of was of opening my heart to someone ever again. The pain you experience when you let someone into your heart is probably the worse kind of pain and also the hardest to recover from. Even now, I’ve barely recovered from the trauma of betrayal. Like a very obstinate oyster, I closed myself from everyone. I felt like anyone who wanted to come near to me only wanted my special pearl, and I was less than willing to share it with them. So when I returned to my own hometown, I had no friends. Actually I did have friends, but they weren’t close to me. I hardly even talked to anyone at all. My heart was still frantically swimming in the violent waters of my distrust. I felt as if the repercussions of betrayal sent continual waves of anger, distrust, and sadness into me, and that my heart is still being battered by the bitter waves. So you could say that, although it was a very nice day at the beach, it was the worse day that I have ever had by far.

Although most stories would have a conclusion or a resolution, I don’t have one. In fact, this story isn’t even over yet. Every day is a new trial, every day another wave crashing over my head. But the question is, why do I keep going? Why do I keep trudging on through the waves, even when those waves were the ones who drowned my happy, naive self? The answer to that question is still muddy, but I feel that I can offer some clarity. The reason that I continue through this hard journey is that, even though the pain of it all is harsh and bitter, the love and joy that you experience throughout the journey is very, very worth it. Every day, I persevere because I know that eventually, I will come across a clear day where there are no turbulent waves. That clear day will be the day which I can finally hold someone’s hand without hesitance, to look into their eyes without looking away, to let them touch me without recoiling, and to walk into crashing waves without the fear that they would let go of my hand. That day of course, as many people dream of now, is the day I can freely say “I trust you.”