I felt awful when I learned through social media that my old friends were hanging out without me, and when the new friends I was trying to make “forgot” to invite me. I would ask a friend if they wanted to hang out, and they would tell me that they were busy, or that that their parents told them they couldn’t. Scrolling through my Instagram feed and and tapping through Snapchat stories told me otherwise. I was left out of birthday get-togethers, picnics at the park, swimming at the nearby lake. I slowly became detached, erased from the equation; out of sight, out of mind. I stopped asking them to hang out. As I met new people who were very friendly, who seemed to like me, it became clear to me how fast word spread about my arrogance and harshness. “Hey, if you see a post on Instagram, don’t feel bad. We just aren’t used to having you around and we forgot to invite you,” a new friend-in-the-making once told me. Just like “being bad with names,” it didn’t make sense. People just didn’t want to make the effort.

There was an upside: I had time to reflect on the things I wanted, and who I wanted to be. If I had felt horrible about who I was as a kid, I felt so much worse about who I had turned into because of how my feelings of unbelonging had corrupted my perceptions of camaraderie and affection. I couldn’t blame people for not wanting to hang out with me.

As I sat alone on weekend nights, wishing I had someone to talk to, I realized that the one thing I never tried to do in order to make friends, or find people who accepted and understood me: I hadn’t tried telling people the truth about how I felt. While in India, I hadn’t tried expressing my struggle with cultural changes with the people who seemed so oblivious to how conflicted I felt. And, while in high school in America, I hadn’t confessed to my friends my struggle with finding my identity, one that arose from my previous confliction with the cultural barrier. Sometimes, in order for people to know how you feel, you not only have to confront yourself about your feelings, but the same people who are making you feel that way. Feeling lonely and rejected isn’t uncommon, no matter what the reasons behind that may be, and admitting this to someone can be the first step to forming a meaningful friendship.

As the summer before my senior year was coming to an end, I decided that it was time to talk to my friends about how I felt, especially since I had only one year of high school left and I wanted it to be gratifying. It seemed like the perfect time to lay out and resolve how I was feeling, and how I may have made my friends feel, as well. After I expressed to old and new friends that the Indian jokes weren’t funny, confessed that spending time with my mother didn’t have to be lame, and admitted that readjusting to American culture was difficult, I didn’t have to pretend to be tolerant nor aggressive. I was just myself: They knew the basis of my grievances and my hurt. Friendship was no longer based on conversations I pretended that I was interested in or the number of times I was able to hang out, but genuinely enjoying being with each other.

My senior year ended up being filled with trips to the best sno-cone shack in town, tennis alongside a new-found teammate and old friend, aimless driving during the night, and of course, late-night french fry runs. The first time I had ever fully recognized a genuine and solid friendship was when I sat next to one of my friend’s parents and watched one of his orchestra performances. Although I had always been aware of his talent, I was so unbelievably proud of him. I had never experienced that feeling of being proud for a friend, and seeing him play for the first time, and being invited to watch him perform let my heart know just how much our friendship meant to me, as well as to him. This was the same person who I had gotten into multiple arguments with, the same person who I had worried didn’t like me enough when I wasn’t invited to hang out with him and a couple of other people, and the same person who had also expressed his hurt and anger when I told him mine. Although telling him how I felt wasn’t easy, and hearing him tell me about how I had made him feel at times was even worse, that ultimate feeling of gratification as I sat there watching him play was worth trying for. Any time that I don’t agree with my friends, or they don’t agree with me, it is expected that we tell each other. Although cutting someone off may be easier than confronting them, friendship requires a little more effort, a little more expression rather than “being bad” with confrontation and discussion, in order to sustain and cultivate it.

The cultural barriers I faced may have initially prevented me from going out to watch Hindi movies or stargazing, but it when it came to telling people how I felt, the only barrier was me. In order to get people to understand that what they were doing was wrong as they were ostracizing me and leaving me out of social events, I had to tell them. I also had to tell them about moving to India and the butterfly-tattoo rumor, I had to tell them about the very-white bra and my very-baggy shorts that I wore during the first month of high school, and I had to tell them how people’s reactions affected me, so they could understand why I had to put up a front, why I was so afraid of being myself. If you are ever in a situation in which people are casting you out or “forgetting you,” first you have to let people know how you feel about it, and if there’s a reason you’re having a difficult time connecting with people, you must let them know why. Connecting with people through the intangible things that everyone knows and feels—genuine sadness, loneliness, frustration, as well as genuine happiness—helps people to see you as human, and it helps you know that you’re human. Then, nothing can be unattainable, impossible, or forbidden, regardless of where you come from, or where you go—not even friendship. ♦