Morgan Chan

“Who do you like?” she would always be asked. The middle-schooler always felt vaguely confused about what this really meant, but no further explanation was ever offered. She would answer as truthfully as she could, but she would never be believed. Finally she would cough up the name of someone she knew whom she did not dislike, and convince herself that this was the truth. If she was unlucky, which was often, word would get out, and the friendship between herself and that person inevitably would dissolve in a melodrama of the silent treatment, avoidance, and sometimes slander.

When she moved to high school, she was given the opportunity for a clean slate, and she took it, clinging to it, fearing to lose it. She questioned every glance, every slight blush and movement of the stomach and hands. Was this the caffeine? Do I just like this person as a friend? Why am I smiling? She got used to concealing any emotions. Don’t laugh too hard. What will they think? You’ll lose everything.

It was not until college that she realized that there existed the option to opt out of romantic relations. That she didn’t need to have a type. That she is not broken if she doesn’t find the one, because that concept need not apply to her, to haunt her, to make her feel unhinged. That she can live life to the fullest just as she is, in the company of tea, friends, and laughter.

Morgan Chan is a 3rd year double degree student trying desperately not to die while majoring in violin performance and Russian.