A few years back I thought life was easy. Life was easy with friends. Then life really hit me and I realized things. I have read in so many places that it matters at what point of life you met your friend. It measures the depth that relation can go. I think it is not the period we meet, it is always the people. Time can change, time flies, time turns, and time halts. The same with people. They change, they turn, and they show who they are. That’s where we got hit by the blow.
I grew up watching my Father being sad because his friends disappointed him. His friends cheated on him in business, and his friends betrayed him. I grew up he telling me, you have to be always careful in what you do. He believes it is not so possible to choose friends wisely because even the best you choose can turn worst in time. So he cared more about what he do with others. But still a few weeks back before I flew back to Canada my mom told me he got hurt because one of his close acquaintances did something behind his back. Still in his late 60s. But What I also felt is he never stopped making friends. He never stopped helping people or believing in what they do.
Then I thought about myself. The ways I get hurt. The ways I felt disappointed by my friends. I think I also grew up as a mini version of my father. From losing my best childhood friend to getting disappointed by my favourite friend, life got sucked out in my friendships. As my father said, people change over time. And sometimes we couldn’t even recognize what they are like. Thus I stopped making friends. In the last year, the friends I made were a bunch of mothers of autistic children. Because we had something common to share to. We had something nobody else could relate with. The concerns, the stories, the struggles. And to not even one of them, I shared my life, my mind, my dreams. If I clear off those women I met in the hospital corridors, I only made friends with Aju and Shirin whom I met on the weirdest days. But they made my life better. They made me feel recognized. And I felt lucky. Amidst all the losses and all the disappointments and all the chaos they made me feel relaxed by asking ‘Are you okay?’ in the oddest of hours. Whenever my sound felt terrible they asked me ‘Do you want me to come over? Just maybe we can talk about something!’ I think I always said it’s okay I am good but I felt grateful that someone is there to run to me when I am in my deepest shit.
In these few years, I realized friendship is not about when we meet, how long we know or how much time we spent together. It is the willingness. It is the willingness to understand the other person. The achievements we share, the struggles you can realize, the encouragement you sent, the care you show, the way you communicate, the way you feel the other person is special, and the way you make time for them.
I wish my father never gets sad again cause of friendship. I wish my father never got hurt like the way I got hurt by my friends. I wish he haven’t gone through as much pain as I felt when my friends disappointed me. I wish he never turned to this serious man because he lost the laugh in between somewhere when he got stabbed by the friend he loved. And I wish I should take away this heaviness in my heart and smile again!
To all the long-lost friends and to all the ones I am still keeping. Time flies, and people change!