Or at least extremely dislike.

It’s absurd, really. I’ve never really had much of a friendship with him, nor talked to him on a consistent basis, but he just hates me.

I don’t understand. I really, really don’t.

Welcome the September 2008. You’re me, and you’re walking towards your first class for the new school year at a new school in a program called Middle Years.

Being the tardy, lazy 8th grader you (or should I say, I was) were back then, you decide to get lost (consciously) and turn up to first block about 3 minutes late.

It’s a large, dark room in front of you. You can’t see your elementary school friends, which are few in number anyways (about 7, 2 of which you actually talk to). There’s only one seat left, and that’s beside some guy called (for the sake of secrecy, lets call him Bob) Bob. In front of you, in the other row sits what seems to be Bob’s best and only friend in this class, (nicknames again) David.

After about 15 or so minutes, you realize that the rest of your friends are on the other side of the room. And being the shy kid you are, you have no urge to move over there, or even stand up to wave at them.

So you continue sitting there, caught in the middle of Bob and David’s discussion of a certain First Person Shooter game that they both play.

This scene happens many, many times all on different dates before Bob and David decide to include you into the conversation. They ask you about that FPS game, and to their surprise, you don’t play FPS (yup) and proceed to convince you of the joys of FPS.

Fast forward 3 or 4 months (exact number of months, I have no clue). The World Ends With You is a popular DS game that you have recently beat, and really, really enjoyed. Bob seems to enjoy it a lot too. He discusses this with (once again) John during French class. Some time over the course of the discussion, John somehow drags you into the discussion, which you happily accept because the person sitting beside you is unbearable for whatever reason your 8th grade mind decided on. After some 20 minutes of discussion, your French teacher walks in and cuts the conversation short. After class ends, you and John proceed to discuss TWEWY and other DS games you two found fun.

Fast forward a week or two. You and John have become increasingly closer friends over the time you spend in French talking. Bob however, you have not acquired any heart points with him, much to your dismay – he seems like a cool guy. But that opinion of yours is shattered when Bob drops his pen some 30 minutes into class. As the pen was closer to you, and you being the kindred soul you are, decide to forgo taking notes and pick up that blue pen rolling on the floor. You hand it to Bob, who snatches it away, stares at you and then says the following:

Who the f— do you think you are. I don’t remember allowing pieces s— like you touch my pen. F— off.

You reel back in shock.

Was this the same Bob that included you into his conversation with David, and then John? The same that you saw being kind and sociable (from afar, of course) with other fellow Middle Year kids?

I don’t know.

Fast forward to grade 10 – Pre-IB.

He’s in your socials class, and once again, sits beside you. In front of you sits, J (shortform&nickname all in one) who isn’t very talkative, so you waste time talking with other people around you. It’s been a while since that French class encounter, but you are still scared of communicating with him. He breaks your worries by talking about the recently released, Call of Duty: Black Ops that he just bought during lunch. It’s a fun conversation, and you think you acquired some points with him.

7 months later, Pre-IB is over.

Your relationship, whatever that may have been, with Bob is also over.

He seems to ignore you completely now.

On the Skytrain (which, contrary to it’s name, spends most of it’s time underground – like a subway that occasionally gets high, literally), when with (nickname) James and (nickname) George, being the only one experienced the test as of yet, he declines your existence, or at the very least the existence of the sentence you just said, confirming that you have taken the test and says:

No one has taken it then?

That one hurt.

You spend the entire Skytrain ride, wondering what have you ever really done to them? You don’t communicate with him at all, so there’s no chance of hurting him with your words. You don’t gossip, especially not about someone you barely even know. You also don’t judge his group of friends, which has dramatically changed over the past 3 years.

But he always looked at you with those… judgmental eyes.

You realize that throughout your entire non-existent relationship with him, he has always looked at you with those shape, piercing and judgmental eyes.

You come to the conclusion that he dislikes you for whatever outwardly feature you have. The fact that he has some deep hatred for you that developed over the past 3 years, because he dislikes something about you… scared you.

You shiver in your room, frightened and afraid to see him again – although you know that it is hopeless for you frequently see his face.

Before sleeping, you lay on your bed, and shed a single tear. The first tear in what has been a few months.

You curse and swear. Demanding God, or whatever powerful force reshape your appearance, so that no one hates you.

You hate people hating you, it strikes you at it’s zenith.

You rue your existence.

I rue my existence

in his life.