In a world where all of us are so interconnected, all people interwoven in an endless fabric, forgiveness is lauded as the way to live life. We know it can help open the gates to happiness. We hear stories of how sweet liberation feels. But sometimes, forgiveness can be so, so hard. No one really elaborates on how a good memory often stands blocking it, how self-rumination drives it away, how the acute emotions of our hearts consume the level-headed rationality of our minds. Some people react in their anger like bombs: exploding in fury one second, and then quickly getting over it as the debris settles. They can forgive and forget.

But for others, like me, it’s not that easy. I know along with the people around me that I can really hold a grudge. It’s not that I want to be perceived as close-minded or stubborn (usually I like to believe I’m very open minded and cooperative). And of course, holding a grudge is “immature.” But when enough anger gets to me, it’s something I can’t really shake off.

When I was younger, I had little grudges on people for extended periods of time. I resented a couple of my classmates for months for running away from me at recess because they didn’t want to hang out with me. I resented one of my elementary school teachers for years because she picked favorites and wouldn’t call on me in class: I even started writing a book about the mistreatment I felt I’d undergone (don’t worry, I only wrote half a chapter.) Along with that, I resented so many others for I don’t even know what—all for petty, flimsy reasons that had dilated in severity in my mind.

For most of middle school, it was no different. I had a grudge against one guy for a year because I thought he liked me. I had a grudge against another boy because I’m pretty sure he thought I liked him.

What really hinted a massive shift at that time for me was something in seventh grade. I was bullied on the school bus. In retrospect, maybe the girls who jeered at me were initially trying to be my friends. When they had approached me, asking me questions about myself, I assumed the worst: that they had ill intentions. In the heat of the moment, I became awkward, sarcastic and curt. It all took a turn for the worse; nice turned ugly and then pretty soon there were mean words being tossed around on both sides. They would throw pieces of paper at me, get their friend to jokingly ask me out. I just wanted to be left alone. One day, I just broke down. I started crying, feeling useless, alone, like the single target everyone around me was after. I didn’t know what I expected. I just felt like it was a tipping point.

But then, to my surprise, the leader of the girls apologized. It was very sincere. In the moment, through my tears, I said that I didn’t know what to say. She told me it was okay if I didn’t forgive her. When I got home that day, at first I was still enraged, vehemently replaying every single moment I had suffered, pitying myself in a way that deserved no pity. It was my natural instinct to swear to hate her forever despite her apology.

Time is essential to forgiveness. The bus incident occurred in May. It was during summer break when I began to change course, to veer around. Taylor Swift has a song called “Innocent”, written about her infamous incident with Kanye West, and in it, she sings her forgiveness for him, stating gently, “You're still an innocent.” Listening to it, I found myself through the words and realized that I so, so just wanted to get over it. I wrote a lot too, struggling with two very polar emotions, a life-or-death brawl between the rational desire to forgive of my ego and the intense desolation and outrage of my id that I would still feel whenever I’d reminisce about it. It was a game of tug-of-war where I was the fraying rope being sacrificed, and every minute a different side seemed to be winning.

But writing more and more eventually fused my emotions with the logic. I wrote angry songs, somber songs, diary entries of runaway feelings.

And I’m happy to say that ultimately, after months, forgiveness pulled through. At first it was a tainted version of it, tinged with held-back anger, but as life rolled on by, it slowly was pushed to the back of my mind. And as the last vestiges of the grudge cleared, so did the skies.

It’s also of the essence of forgiveness to realize that people are erratic. People grow up. People change and they themselves forget. What they do one day, they may see later, in hours or days or weeks or perhaps years, as a deep regret. And most of all, you are worth so much more than any of their cruel intents. Dwelling on your darkness is a damn waste of all you could be. Forgive and forget--and destroy everyone with your ability to do so.

There was once a kid who bullied me once in seventh grade in front of his friends. That day, I was considerably angry, wrote about everything to spiral my way through, but it was a one-time occurrence, nowhere near as heated or prolonged as what it occurred on the bus. From then on for three years, I had a general ill attitude towards him, not outright hatred but rather a stony dislike. So it seemed to be by fate when years later, I walked into a classroom to turn something in, and he was coincidentally there. Awkwardly I tried to skirt around him, and maybe it was because I was wearing heavy shoes, but I very obviously tripped in front of him, and I almost fell. I didn’t know what to expect from him, not laughter exactly but maybe a condescending expression. I certainly didn’t expect him to give me a look of what seemed to be genuine concern and ask, “Are you OK?” Too embarrassed to do much else, I assured him that I was fine and quickly left the room.

What I didn’t say was that in just the way only did I forgive him for what he did to me so long ago, but I was ashamed of any grudge or disgust I had waged against people. And I realized I shouldn't live by this toxically critical judgement, that I was painting them into cynics when the biggest one of them all was myself.

The path to forgiveness can be rocky, but it’s one that you won't ever regret taking. And I know how it feels to so adamantly not want to subside. But there are certain steps to happiness we can take ourselves, and this is one of them.