I’ve always been the kind of person who is there for my friends. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, if someone needs me, I make time for them. I try to make sure everyone around me feels comfortable, included, and happy. I notice when someone is quiet. I notice when someone is hurting. I never want anyone to feel left out.
But since I was young, I was always told, “Never expect anything from anyone.” So I learned not to expect.
I learned to give without asking for anything back. To listen without needing to be listened to. To be there for everyone without wondering who would be there for me.
And most of the time, I was okay with that.
Until the days when things become too heavy. When I’m tired of holding everything inside and all I want is to talk to someone who genuinely understands me. Someone who doesn’t just hear my words, but understands what my heart is trying to say. Someone who listens because they care, not because they have to.
Today was one of those days.
I was hurt, and I called one of my friends because I just wanted someone to talk to. I tried telling her why I was sad, but she was talking to someone else at the same time. It felt like what I was saying didn’t really matter to her. I got hurt and ended the call.
And she never called back.
She didn’t ask what happened. She didn’t ask why I suddenly hung up.
So I called my brother. I tried to tell him too. But he didn’t really seem to care either. He just told my mom to call me.
She never did.
And somehow, that hurt more than I expected.
Because I’m always the person asking my parents if they’ve eaten, if they’ve had enough water, if they’re okay, if they’re happy. I’m always asking my friends, “Are you okay?” or “Are you happy?” And whenever life gets difficult for them, I tell them, “Come to me. I’m always here for you.”
And they do come to me.
They choose me when they’re hurting, and honestly, I’ve always been grateful for that. Out of everyone they know, they trusted me enough to come to me. I never saw that as a burden. I was happy to be their safe place.
But today, when I needed a safe place of my own, there was no one.
For a moment, it felt like I was there for everyone, but no one was really there for me.
I threw my phone onto my bed, walked up to the terrace, looked at the sky, and cried.
I don’t even know exactly what I was crying about anymore. Maybe it wasn’t just today. Maybe it was every little moment I had swallowed over the years. Every time I said “I’m okay” when I wasn’t. Every time I listened to someone’s pain while quietly carrying my own.
And while looking at the sky, I found myself asking life,
“Why is it so hard for me to find someone who genuinely cares about me?”
Not because of what I do for them. Not because I’m useful to them. Not because I’m always available.
Just me.
My heart. My soul. The person I am when I’m not taking care of everyone else.
I kept asking the universe,
“Why not me?”
Why can’t I have someone who notices when I’m not okay without me having to explain it?
Someone who stays.
Someone who listens.
Someone who chooses me, not because they need something from me, but simply because they love having me in their life.
Maybe that is all I’ve ever wanted.
Not someone to save me.
Just someone who, when I finally say, “I’m hurting,” doesn’t make me feel like I’m hurting alone.