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In her book Astigirl, my friend Tweet Sering wrote about why, a few years back, she went back to her parents' house and lived like a teenager for a while.

She described what her teenage years were like. In a nutshell, it was your average teenage angst plus the constant and tiring battle for individuality, going against what people wanted her to be. The teenager in her couldn't wait to grow up and live life on her own terms without having to answer to anyone but herself. And because she couldn't wait to grow up, she shunned common, nubile things like high school boyfriends and other teen rituals. She became a late bloomer, and it was only in her early 30s that she felt the need to make peace with her teenage self because, as she put it, "The girl was cramping my style." So for almost a year, she lived like a teenager in her parents' house and did all the things her teenage self was unable to do. Tweet mused that she was too hard on that teenage girl, so now, she let her be.

I couldn't have read Tweet's story at a more appropriate time because recently, my 25-year-old self did something my 13-year-old self wasn't able to do.

I am, once again, a woman scorned. As I have written before, angst is one of the best motivations for writing. For days, I pondered, What is a "best friend"?

I could tell you a lot of things about what a best friend is. I could quote lines from popular movies, books, and TV series. Yet one could never fully describe what a best friend really is in the most objective way.

So, what is a "best friend"? All I know is I used to have one.

But even if you consider someone your best friend, do you need to hear that label all the time for reassurance? It never occurred to me before. Since grade school, Nicia had been the only person I called "best friend." I didn't need to call anybody else that. But high school changes people.

I still remember it all so vividly. It happened during the third quarter of our first year in high school. She started calling one of our closest friends her "partner." That should have been my cue, a sign, a red flag--I did feel that it was one but I dismissed it quickly, thinking that if I asked her what it was about, she would tell me that I was being paranoid and maybe even possessive. So I dismissed it, even after all the events that said otherwise. And yes, even after she started calling the other girl her "best friend."

I didn't say anything. I didn't even ask. I didn't even give myself the chance to confront her, get angry, and feel hurt that she ditched me without offering an explanation.

Did I do something wrong? I never even gave myself the chance to ask that question because I pushed myself to excel in academics for the rest of my years in school. After college and over the years, we went through a lot of things--things that strengthened our friendship. Among my high school crowd, the two of us were always the ones who got into fights. I can't remember how many times we told each other "friendship over" and yet, we always managed to cry and patch things up after a few weeks of not talking.

I guess real friends are the hardest to let go of.

That is, until this happened to me.

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