I wasn't always the stoic, expressionless introvert who rarely smiled. There was a time when I loved greeting people on walkways and actively sought out new connections. Back then, I considered my classmates as lifelong brothers and sisters without a moment of doubt. Deep inside, I still yearn for those days when making friends at my school, an esteemed institution where I spent four years of my life, was a source of joy. Or rather, I yearn for a time when I wasn’t so fearful and hurt by interpersonal relationships I once trusted.
I never could have imagined how a simple invitation from Dean H to her office on one fateful afternoon in September 2022 could be so disastrous. "Thank you for coming in," spoke Dean H with a seemingly friendly smile that quickly transformed into a concerned frown the moment I sat down. I knew instantly the conversation wouldn't be friendly; what I couldn't predict was just how troubling its contents would be. L, a student with whom I was formerly in a relationship, had filed a report claiming I was stalking her and stated she was "disturbed by routinely crossing paths in the dining halls and the library" with me. I was instructed to "be mindful of my activities" to ensure no student would feel uncomfortable. The allegations and Dean H's response were preposterous: did I not have as much right as anyone else to public places?
Yet the claims progressed, both in frequency and magnitude. L asserted that I followed her around the dining hall despite her relocating several times. A few weeks later, I had to deny a false claim stating that I had "inappropriately touched" a student in the church basement, which I later discovered L had relayed to the deans on behalf of another student. I repeatedly implored Dean H and later Dean C, who joined the investigation, to provide details so I could prove my innocence. Yet, I was always met with, "We can provide no further details." What should have been easily identified as false accusations turned into unresolved allegations.
I had no time to feel the injustice; the deepest scar was yet to come. In January 2023, a couple of girls who used to be my friends suddenly started avoiding me, whispering among themselves and shooting reproachful glares in my direction. A few weeks later, while requesting signatures for class representative candidacy, two girls with whom I was formerly friendly pretended to be in a different grade to avoid signing my sheet. I soon discovered that all these girls had unfollowed me on Instagram and blocked other means of communication.
Through texts from two friends, I learned that L was circulating the same lies she reported to the deans, and her friends propagated those narratives, painting me as a monstrous stalker and sexual predator. Of course, I reported my findings to the deans, providing witnesses and evidence proving she was the one committing the exact deeds she accused me of. Yet the response was beyond words: while she had the right to freely speak her perspective, I was prohibited from stating my narrative as that would be 'retaliatory' and damage her reputation.
As absurd as L's reports and the deans' instructions were, I was no longer fazed by them. What hurt, however, was that people I thought I was close to and trusted subscribed to these rumors and severed ties with me. These supposed friendships were so easily dismantled by unfounded rumors. What would prevent those who had never interacted with me from preemptively judging me according to the allegations? Was there a point in trying to make new friends if all would end up in ruins like this?
A clear pattern emerged among those who severed ties with me. Almost all the students who believed the rumors, unfollowed me on Instagram, and relayed the rumors were girls, particularly those close to L. I shuddered to think how easily friendliness could become predatory flirting, affectionate touches could become groping, and consensual sex could become rape at the hands of a girl with malicious intent. I was terrified of how disadvantaged I would be in a "he said, she said" situation, regardless of how incoherent her assertions were.
It is undoubtedly beyond common sense that most of the girls at my school recognize the immorality of false accusations. Yet I underestimated the power of fear. My Google search history was soon filled with terms like "Pence Rule" and "Legality of Recording Conversations" as I sought ways to avoid providing the slightest leeway for misinterpretation. Offline, I avoided interactions at all costs despite neither of us having done anything wrong. Don't make eye contact and never smile; she might think you're interested in her or staring at body parts you shouldn't be, I told myself, forcing on a poker face, turning up the volume on my earbuds, and staring straight ahead.
Looking back, if I had responded just once to the numerous gestures of friendliness around me, maybe I wouldn't have lost faith in humanity and wondered if I could ever find trustworthy friendship or love again. Yet I had forgotten one of the world's most fundamental principles: the warm rejuvenation of spring always succeeds the bitter cold of winter.
Maybe I would have recognized sooner that my struggles were not permanent if I had read *Dawn Songs* by Jamie K. Reaser and J. Drew Lanham earlier. The book reminded me that, while "[Mother Nature] has to wait" sometimes, "spring [will return] both the birds and the rockfish" inevitably (Reaser & Lanham, 2023). Reaser and Lanham critique human ecological footprints that jeopardize the sustenance of birds but also hint at their futility. No human activity, despite seeming devastating, will ever hinder the birds significantly or lastingly. L and the deans were the humans; I was the bird never to be derailed.
I devoted my spring to theater, a hobby that allowed me to concentrate on something other than my academic troubles. The ordeals of fall and winter were still fresh in my mind, however, and before the cast had its first assembly, I found myself gauging how friendly I should be so as not to be too intrusive or too aloof. Do not allow others' perceptions to dictate your life, I reminded myself, vowing to exercise maximum professionalism with the other actors despite my anxiety. The production and rehearsals progressed successfully, but I found true significance in the old relationships that renewed and new relationships that blossomed within the cast. While most of my interactions with the cast initially remained confined to the stage, I soon trusted them enough to converse outside the theater.
In the following fall of my upper year, I embarked on my academic passions by taking advanced biology courses requiring significant collaboration outside of class. A year had passed since the initial conversation with Dean H, yet the ordeals were far from over. A new student with whom I spoke for three days chose to distance herself after hearing L's narrative about me. As much as I hoped my struggles from the previous year were over, occasional reminders of circulating rumors and severed relationships pulled me back to my cautious past, avoiding personal interactions with girls outside study sessions and any potential misinterpretations. I needed a miracle to prove I was wrong to assume such measures were necessary. And a miracle did happen, as all miracles do, when I least expected it.
During a study session, one of the girls in my class suddenly spoke up. "You know, I did hear about the talk about you going around, but seeing how you interact with your peers in theater and biology class, I realized that you were far from the way you were portrayed," she revealed. What I wanted to say was more than a mumbled thank you. I wanted to tell her how much those words meant as she nonchalantly resumed mapping out karyotypes in her notebook. Yet I was consumed by a warmth I had long lost familiarity with, a warmth that thawed my cold, distrusting heart and brought fresh hope for humanity.
As I sat speechless, memories that had threatened to slip away returned. Memories of friends offering support in our first weeks away from home. Memories of exchanging encouragement among athletes of all sports and genders. Memories of greeting strangers and making new friends. Memories that overflowed with love and humanity yet had been forced aside by fear, betrayal, and lost faith.
I realized then that I was no different from the girls I had criticized for judging me based on unfounded rumors. As bad as they were, I was no better in assuming all girls would see me in such a light and unjustly treating them as potential liars. I let fear dictate my actions, shutting myself away from the goodness in the kind-hearted girls around me. Instead of allowing time and warmth to mend my scars, I further gnashed and bore my claws against them.
To say that my scars have healed completely would be too radical; I still have much to heal and rebuild. The relationships that disintegrated never returned, and I am aware that some students still see me in a negative light. However, I am grateful that I grasped how destructive my fears were on my rational judgment and how blind I had been to the love around me. I am working to prevent my suspicions from dictating my relationships and deepening the crevice between my community and myself.
Maybe I never needed to be such an introvert. Maybe all I needed to recognize the love and vitality around me was a brief moment of courage to smile and wave at the stranger on the walkways. Henry David Thoreau was correct when he stated in *Spring* that those who fail to live in the present "loiter in winter while it is already spring" (Thoreau, 253). The longer I held onto my fears, the more opportunities for positive interactions I would lose, never breaking free from my loss of faith in humanity. Spring had always been here, but I was still hibernating in the depths of fear and hurt despite so many flowers having already bloomed. All I can hope for is that there is still enough spring
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