The Fellowship (Pt.2)

I tried to discern in the fellowship group who was reliable and sensitive, who could genuinely connect with their emotions and humanity. These were people who truly understood others, rather than performing kindness or narcissistic projection.

Such people aren’t actually rare. Roy was the first one I noticed, and Corey, who joined the group later, was the last. Roy genuinely responded to my articles; Corey didn’t.

From Roy, I had the experience of “he really understood me.” This empathy wasn’t born of logic or training but was an intuitive response from a soft soul. Every response he gave me, though perhaps not easy, I knew was a choice made after understanding me to the greatest extent possible.

So, I was sad because I thought he saw me, but in the end, he stood on the opposite side.

Though that wasn’t his intention.

Initially, I thought Corey also saw me. This wasn’t a conclusion drawn from our conversations but from behavioral details and intuition. He wasn’t someone who easily revealed himself.

Later, at a gathering, I noticed he had a very clear emotional outburst while speaking in another cell group. That night, after returning home, I found he had shared a song in the group chat, where he never usually spoke, so out of concern, I messaged him to check in.

I contacted him twice more afterward. He would respond to my messages politely and carefully but never expanded or provided in-depth feedback, nor did he ever initiate a conversation.

After leaving the Wednesday fellowship group, I started trying new ways to make a YouTube channel. I mass-sent my new videos to many people, including Corey.

After sending the second video, I explained my motivations. Corey replied kindly as well.

I was in a good mood then, so I jokingly asked him if he had liked it. But this message received no reply for a long time.

I didn’t know what lay behind his silence and began to wonder if I had overstepped. So I sent a message explaining why I wanted to know his thoughts, testing if he shared a similar sense of dissatisfaction in the church.

But at that moment, I suddenly felt so tired, so wronged—why couldn’t I be like a child? Why had I done so much, yet couldn’t even allow myself to soften? I could only rely on extreme insight and awareness for self-management, never truly having a safe enough “relationship model.” And wasn’t this what community, fellowship, family, and companions should have given me?

Later, though he replied politely, I tried to chat casually, but I couldn’t feel relaxed anymore. I realized I had developed undue expectations in this conversation, as if this matter, which was clearly unrelated to him, always made him seem insufficient—which wasn’t fair to him.

So, after a moment of thought, I sent him this message:

“I’m not sure if I’ve made you feel pressured, if so, that wasn’t my intention. You may have already sensed it: I carry a deep internal emptiness. I need someone who doesn’t see me as a threat, doesn’t project their unresolved emotions onto me or manipulate me. Whether that’s a father figure, a mother, a brother, or a sister — such people never really exist in my life. I chose to open up to you because I felt I could trust you, I thought you saw me. I genuinely need meaningful conversations, but now I’m caught second-guessing myself, wondering if I’ve been “too much” again. It’s my own problem, not because of anything you did. You are not responsible for that emptiness. I just feel that being honest might be the healthier. Thank you for your kindness so far.”

For some reason, my heart felt completely cold. I closed WhatsApp and didn’t want to open it again.

I cried bitterly. Because my soul finally admitted—how much I longed to be caught, and how much I feared falling again.

And this was just my own problem.

That night, I opened my phone, preparing to archive the conversation, but saw that he was typing, and typing for a long time. I chuckled, laughing at how my earlier sense of emptiness and loneliness wasn’t the full picture, yet I was so fixated on it.

Later that night, I received his long message.

His response was sincere, gentle, and boundaries-aware, almost to the point of evasion, but he also opened up about some of his own spiritual journey.

I was somewhat touched at the time, though after reading the message, I thought, “Well, none of them can really deliver”—because he was someone whose spirit hadn’t been broken by the Gospel, responding to me with conscious kindness but ultimately lacking deep connection.

But at that moment, he neither fled nor showed any manipulation or oppression, which, given the patterns I had experienced, was a healing in itself.

I had nothing to be disappointed about; instead, I became gentle again. Not only because I faced my own emptiness and expectations, and clarified my boundaries, but also because this person genuinely replied to me—he had given everything he could give at that moment.

I let go of my expectations and released the entanglement, then replied to him:

“I guess when I said “pressure” and “threat”, what I really meant was: It’s too painful when I find myself always being open, while the other person stays closed. I’m very afraid that this situation will repeat itself. So I had to tell you this honestly, before I step back to silence… Thank you for not shutting the door on me.🙂

I think I’m probably more suited for podcasting. If I ever get to publish something, may I send you the link? Do you listen to podcasts?😇”

A blessing-like turn, allowing the relationship to continue with creativity and aspiration.