"FAITH... FUL... TO YOOOOUUU!!!"

            We all whooped it up as we sang the last three words of our graduation hymn. Pandemonium erupted as people grabbed each other in a hysterical mix of laughter and tears.

            I could not stop the tears from falling as I looked around and realized: for four years, I had found the belongingness I had always craved. I had found myself a family, one which was now about to stand on unfamiliar territory.

            I began to weave my way through the sea of blue togas, hugging the people who had meant something to me at one point in my life. But as a tall figure hovered to my right, I veered left to hug yet another warm body. She used to be my right-hand woman, always there for a good laugh right when I needed one. But then she left me out in the cold when I needed a shoulder to cry on. I was left all alone, and it never felt quite right. So as she hovered to my left, I veered to the right to offer my congratulations to an acquaintance. And all the while I thought, "Please don't let me bump into her. Please."

            I was not ready to apologize for the wasted years that had gone by. I was not ready to admit that I had hurt her far more than she had hurt me. I was not ready to accept her for who she was, not matter how much I didn't like who she had turned out to be. I was unable to formulate simple sentences like "I'm sorry," or even just "God bless" and "I hope you'll be happy," or maybe even "Let's forget all this" because I knew I meant none of the above.

            But then, the sea of blue parted and we were standing meters from each other. We both stopped in our tracks, each looking like a deer caught in the headlights. I knew that she knew I was trying so hard not to get caught in this situation, yet there we were, in the very situation I had fought to avoid.

            After what seemed like an eternity, I stepped towards her and extended my arms, awkwardly wrapping them around her tall frame. "Congrats," I said, as though I didn't know who I was talking to. "Congrats," she echoed, looking as though she was trying to smile her way through swallowing a bitter pill.

            The hug lasted for two seconds, then we continued drifting away from each other. I turned my back to offer congratulations to yet another person, and no doubt she did the same. It was the last time I saw her for that night, and maybe for the rest of my life.

            It is when you have nothing else to say but "Congratulations" to someone who was your closest friend four years ago that you truly know things are over.