I never thought loving your family meant acknowledging the feeling. I always thought it’s something that’s true without having to expound on the fact or having to act on it.

And that’s true in a sense. But I always felt something was missing in my family bond. Siblings, always together, yet never going beneath the surface of their thoughts, feelings, beliefs. In reality, I know nothing about my family.

~~~

The chair at my desk is rickety and uncomfortable. The cushion isn’t as soft as it was 30 minutes ago.

_What’s the point?_

The thought pops into my mind like a long forgotten responsibility coming back and biting me in the butt.

I put my pencil down onto my open notebook and lean back in my chair. My back cracks as I stretch it over the back rest, and I hang my head upside down for a moment.

On the wall I’m looking at upside down are a few pictures of me and my family when we were younger. Much younger.

_When’s the last time I saw them? Talked to them?_

I sit up and grab my phone. I scroll through my contacts, findng a lot of acquaintances and old friends, the conversations I’d had with them dying quickly after a few messages.

I find my family chat, which has been inactive for 5 months. The last message was my brother asking about a Netflix password.

_No friends for me. I just can’t seem to make them last, can I? _

_What is wrong with me?_

I work a good job. I live in a comfortable apartment. But what’s the point of any of it? I’m still alone, replaying the same day over and over again, the same old cycle repeating no matter what I try to change. I guess I was always meant to be alone, because no matter how much I long for connection, I can’t seem to grasp the key concepts of it, how it works. It feels so forced, like it’s not meant for me.

_Maybe it just isn’t._

I click the power button on my phone and toss it onto my bed that’s a few feet away. A sigh escapes me, and I drop my head face down onto my desk, on top of my notebook. I stay that way for a while, not wanting to move.

My phone buzzes. My message notification sounds.

I get up and grab my phone, a hope climbing up my throat, that maybe someone actually wants to talk to me, and it isn’t just a spam message.

The screen turns on, and I see a message from a random number. It says: “Hiii Chloeee this is Rose”

“I know we haven’t talked much but I really want to get to know you! Next time we get placed in the same team wanna hang out?”

The bubbles at the bottom left of the screen jump around for a second, and she sends a picture of a golden retriever lying on his back looking goofy. A text underneath says: “here’s my dog Pickle for you”

I’m puzzled.

I don’t know anyone named Rose, and my name isn’t Chloe.

I respond: “I think you got the wrong number, I’m not Chloe. But Pickle is adorable 😍"

Rose: “OMGGG IM SO SORRY”

“BAHAHA I GUESS I TYPED IT OUT WRONG LOL SORRYYYYYY”

me: “it’s ok, it’s actually nice”

“I was feeling a bit lonely”

Rose: “omg that’s perfect I’m glad I was able to cheer you up! 🫂 🥰”

“well, sorry for the mix up! I hope you have a good rest of your day!”

Me: “you too!”

And just like that, Rose is gone. A spark in me was lightly blown at, getting brighter for only a second. For some reason, that virtual interaction felt exciting, and a blind inspiration for conversation starts coming up. I know it’ll get crushed later by reality. But I push that away and open the message app again.

If I want to talk to someone, I have to be the one to initiate, not wait for someone to come and entertain me. I have to be the one to reach out first. And I think the best place to start is with the ones who I’ve known my whole life.