Realizing Friendship

Hello once again, again with another memoir, this time, with the topic of friendship. I don’t have much to say other than that I’m excited for the upcoming break where I’ll be given a break, but until then, a bit more backlog, so, bear with me. Here you go, “Realizing Friendship.”


I’m an introvert. I don’t talk to many people, and when I do, I try my best to do my best at it. It’s my own little perfectionism seeping in. I can’t have people knowing that I don’t have many friends. Quite frankly, I do have many friends. Not as many as someone who is an extrovert, but I’m proud of the friends I do have. Although, that’s a very weak statement.

It all happened when I came out late afterschool. I went up to the guidance department to do some troubleshooting, and that had taken me quite some time to accomplish. It was understandable, people had problems, and I was part of those people. The only issue, was that I don’t have a phone, and thus the friends whom I gravitate towards going home with, had already left me. To go against my norm, my perfunctory, was something I wasn’t prepared to do. However, I wasn’t fond of loneliness either, and so I saw my friends, the ones whom I don’t usually go home with, and decided not to be lonely.

If you ever had a dedicated group of friends, you begin allocating roles. There was the leader, who was the heart of the group. The clown, who told the jokes. The watchdog, who was the first to spot oncoming traffic as their group of friends ignorantly stood in the middle of the street. These are a few of the many roles in a group of friends. I had joined in as a taboo member, a scavenger.  It was more than awkward, but I had known all of them, and that precedent alone was enough for me to squeeze in.  I didn’t participate in talking, I didn’t laugh at the jokes, nor did I think they were funny, but I stood by them. We were waiting at a rather lengthy bus stop, and to me, time seemed to slow. The words flew right by me, and for a moment, it felt as if I was a puppet on strings, a marionette. Wherever I felt that I needed to laugh, I did so. Wherever I felt that I needed to participate in the “discussion”, I did so. None of the words I said, nor none of the words they said had been of quality. We were all filled with the our own disgusting profanity, and it was at that moment that I realized how much I hated some of my friends. I had simply been strung along on their play, a show piece for their group, and I hated it.

I soon walked away, crossed the street, and didn’t bother saying a single thing. They would never have cared, neither did I. I walked to the next bus stop, and decided to take a longer route home. I didn’t have qualms about the journey, the time was roughly the same, the only difference was that my ears were clean. I wondered to myself, as I stood there looking to my right among a cloud of strangers, why I had even bothered to join them. It was a question that permeated me as I looked at the time for the next bus, and moved back to make room for more potential passengers. Even the cold of the day, the white of my breath, the red of my hands, and the snow soaking into my shoes could not break me from my trance. Luckily enough, I had a solution for it when the bus came, and it placed a small smile on my face. I realized then and there that the friends I made were not friends I made for the purpose of having a decent symbiotic relationship. No, I had made a parasitic relationship with them, and it was interchangeable. I fed off them when I needed to, and they fed off me when they needed to.  When I stepped on the bus, I narrowed down exactly how many of these parasitic friendships I had, and then the amount of  “real” friends I had. That notion made me happy. Friendship was a fickle matter, but at least I had some. Some without strings.

Proceeding that bus ride home, I vowed to never let myself slip into the strings of those parasitic relationships. I had in my mind all the people whom I truly enjoyed hanging out with, and all of those that I didn’t. It became a fun game of fifty-two pick up. Except, the only thing I was picking up, was all of the diamonds in my pile of coal. I gained a new sense of appreciation towards the friends I picked up, and those friends from that day on, would become even more close to me. I wanted to cherish what real friends I had, and make sure that I never fall into the temptations of those that only seem so. Even if I were to never be able to engage in instant on-the-go messaging with them, I’m sure that my enduring feelings of friendship will reach them. And if they don’t, then I would only ever work towards the point where I can do so, and then some.





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