I would like to apologize to you. You know who you are, when you read this in the semi-distant future and wonder what went wrong so many years ago.

Yes you. You the forever idealistic one who was still stuck in the world of the novel. I can sympathise with that kind of thinking even now. For you were brought up in the most sheltered of environments, and the only life lesson you have ever learned outside was to treasure and not betray your friends. And on that one fundamental building block, you built a castle of sticks made from the debris of the second little pig's house.

I would like to apologize for this: For not sticking up for you, for not helping you assert yourself when I hold you dearest to me. For allowing the waves to crash upon your fragile castle.

The only thing that can resist is an immovable piece of rock.

I owe you so much throughout these years. I should have taught you more about self-preservation, less about service. Perhaps the first few books I let you read shouldn't have been stories that extol the kind and generous. Then Enid Blyton wouldn't have been hardwired into your brain by this time.

I owe you your self-dignity. For I failed to teach you how to draw the line between generosity and submission. Firmly. I have left for you a most unstable character, based on that one building block that came crashing down from above.
The building block that shattered your tribal fence.

She warned you never to dispose of your friends, and made you pay dearly for your first offence.
At such an impressionable young age, the traumatic experience quashed your natural instincts and replaced it with this lie.

I understand now. There are only certain ones that are really worth going that extra mile for. I am sorry that I haven't been able to be one to you.

I hope you will forgive me in time to come. For demanding so much of you and allowing myself to get away with it. For not just overstepping the line, but doing a little clown jiggle on the other side, and establishing it as their territory.

But for now I hope you understand. You will have to live with my mistakes, for the scars embedded firmly in the past will continue to extend to the present, you cannot rub them out of existence with the sweep of your hand. They may continue to torment you on the outside, but take comfort that at least now you will never allow yourself to be hurt again. Let them be a grim reminder of the mistakes past.