Forgive And Forget

FORGIVE AND FORGET

Written by Charlotte Brandman

Photograph by Lauren Mallett

My high school bully commented on my TikTok. Well, not exactly— her best friend did. I had roped my girlfriend into lip-synching the infamous Tana Mongeau’s “Is she the one who is so insufferably annoying…” while we waited for our cookies to finish baking. I posted the TikTok without a second thought, captioned it “When Lucy brings up someone from our high school,” and put my phone away in another room.

Later that night, as I doom-scrolled through social media before bed (as one does), I noticed someone had commented on the video. When I went to check who, I was stunned. Someone had tagged my high school bully’s new account, because her old TikTok was blocked, under my video, insinuating it was about her. 

My first feeling was rage. I wanted to chuck my phone across the room and scream until my throat was hoarse. The video wasn’t about her and I couldn’t afford to drag up old drama on a social media app. But the rage was soon replaced with fear. Fear that I was still a topic of discussion in her private group chats. Fear that my every move on social media was being watched just to be made fun of. Fear that even after moving across the country to escape what often feels like a small-town Orange County, California, I would never truly escape the past.

I wasn’t cool in high school. I was quite the opposite, actually. I attended a performing arts high school for musical theater but never performed in shows. Instead, I was fully committed to my high school’s Mock Trial team. I didn’t party—not for lack of trying, but rather because I have horrific Asian flush when I drink. But I did have one thing going for me: a friend. 

Sara. 

She was cool. She dresses like she’s straight out of an ‘80s dive bar—Stevie Nicks shawls, knee-high black boots, and thick eyeliner. I never saw her in denim the entire time I knew her. I’m convinced she was the reason that cigarettes became popular again. I still remember the day she asked me to store her Marlboros in my tote bag—I wanted someone to find them, to think that I was cool enough to smoke with Sara behind the parking lot.

But, I was only friends with Sara because of my ex-girlfriend, Ruth. So, when Ruth dumped me in the middle of pre-calculus, my friendship with Sara was severed.

I thought it was a clean break—as clean as the sudden loss of a close friend can be. But before I knew it, Sara had created a new image for me, one I wasn’t comfortable with: the liar. She became Ruth’s advocate, her defender. She said all the right things: that I was a narcissist, a psycho, a sociopath, and a crazy bitch. I heard the words so often that I came into therapy one morning, sobbing, begging to know if I could be diagnosed as a narcissist. My therapist started laughing, “Honey, if you were a narcissist, you wouldn’t be asking.”

All I wanted in high school was to fit in—to be cool despite my weird, nerdy fixations. Instead, I spent my junior and senior years eating lunch in my pre-calculus classroom to avoid all the weird stares. 

Then, I graduated. And I haven’t thought about Sara since. Until her friend commented on my TikTok.

The question that’s run through my mind ever since is, Am I allowed to still care? I graduated high school and escaped the land of social cliques and popularity contests, but the moment I was reminded of what my life used to be like, I crumbled. Does that make me pathetic? Or does that make me entirely human?

My mom raised me on the motto: “Forgive and forget.” I’ve been taught to let hardship roll off my back like water, but I’ve learned to disagree. I don’t think you have to forget to move on. In fact, I think forgiving someone despite their past is more powerful than forgetting what they’ve done. 

My high school years were far from fun. I probably spent more time avoiding conflict than I did studying. But isn’t that what high school’s about? Growing pains and awkward conversations; constantly being told you’re too young while feeling like you’re outgrowing the people around you?

I probably won’t forget what it was like to be bullied in high school. And it doesn’t help to be abruptly reminded via my TikTok comments. But instead of obsessing over it, I remind myself that I got out. I made it to a big city, to a new school, with bright new opportunities ahead of me—all because I was brave enough to make a new life for myself, outside of high school.