Forthnights

To a Friend

It’s been so long since we last met. I often wonder how you are doing now. It seems just not too long ago that you and I were best of friends, back then, when life was simple and uncomplicated. I would come to your house and read your magazines, and we’d go out in my dad’s van, buy a couple of burgers and chat till the break of dawn. You remember? Those were the simple times, those were the good times, when the only worry we had was homework and exams!

Before knowing you, I was never much of a chatterbox. I never had long winding conversations with my friends, never laughed and joked about anything under the sun and never shared much of my personal feelings with people. But getting to know you better somehow made me talk more. I felt good having a friend to talk to about serious matters as well as silly matters. And because I read a lot and you hardly read at all, it was mostly me filling you in with all the details about matters; it was always you asking me about a particular topic. From about being gay to why McDonald’s put pickles in their double cheese burger. It felt great to me how for the first time in my life, I was able to share and impart what I know with someone around me. Though this may sound arrogant, I felt that through me, you had your first glimpse of the wider world, one bigger than just you and your life. But now when I think back about those times, I realize one very startling truth. For all that I told you, for all that I taught you, it was I who was learning from you, not the other way round.

When I moved away from the neighbourhood, I knew you were sad to see me leave, though I felt that you would cope fine. I began reflecting on our friendship, thinking just how comfortable I was chatting around you, something I rarely did with other friends. I began to understand that it was because of how you are. You always let me do the talking, and when I spoke you were genuinely interested. You’d follow one question with another good question and listen tentatively. In short, you were a great listener. Something I never even tried to be. Though I have read about it, thought about it, it was you that demonstrated to me the power of listening and the true meaning of communication. Coming to college, most of my new friends are more talkers than listeners. Its hard to find a good friend, and even harder to keep one. Most of my friends in college don’t know much of my life. Only a small handful, and even to them I do not tell everything. I do not tell them about my mother and her illness, I do not tell them about my father and his numerous marriages, I do not tell them about my brother and his volcanic emotions, I do not tell them about my girlfriend and her past and I do not tell them about me and my sufferings. They have never asked nor dug deep enough to find out these truths from me. If you and I were still close, you’d be the first one to know all of these.

But even you, my first true friend have changed. Though you look the same and sound the same, you are but a small semblance of the person I used to know. Having seen the world with your own eyes instead of through my words, you have become distant to me. It is only natural that time would bring us apart and make us distant from each other. But you are now proud and aloof. Your show of sincerity does not feel genuine and you have become a poor listener. I have learnt from you and tried to be more of a listener, though I know I have much work to do. I cannot relate to you anymore, since you have created a happy world of your own again and seem interested in little else. Our last few conversation made me sick to the bone. You reacted with revulsion when I told you I travel by motorbike, as if it was beneath you to do such a thing. Maybe you find it difficult to accept since I was much better off when we knew each other. Heck, it was I that taught you how to drive. But I do not choose what is given to me in this life, but I make do with what little I am blessed with. God gave me an ill mother, but a mother nonetheless; He gave me a small flat to live in, but still a shelter; He gave me a demanding girlfriend, but one worthy of love and trust. I refuse to let these blessings be disgraced by your words, motorbike included. I may not drive around in a car or wear designer shirts, but because that cheap pasar malam shirt and junk of a motorbike were not given to me on a silver platter, I value them more than you would your $500 shirt.

It is sad for me to say these things to a friend like you. Perhaps underneath it all, you are still that same wonderful friend that I came to know. But that’s where my true friend is, underneath, buried by a mask of pride and social status. You do not know how it feels like to be looked down upon by people who think they are of a ‘higher class’. I learnt the hard way not to look down on people less fortunate. You think you are above that girl who works as a waitress at the restaurant or the man washing dishes. You think because you can afford better cloths and a bigger house and not need to work for a living, you are better then them. But those people have more heart and more courage than you know. Try being in their shoes for one day and you will meet many people like yourself. The look upon their face when they talk to you, the waiter, will show you just what they think of you. Only when you are looked down upon and made to feel less important will you realize the value of dignity.

My friend, I do not know what you have been through these few years that has made you like this. It is my hope that, the next time we meet, I will catch a glimpse of that wonderful person you used to be. I have missed having a friend, other than my girlfriend, to share and talk to. Once upon a time, you were that friend, but for now, I will continue searching.

Yours truly

Your friend

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 10:42 pm Comments: 1