A while ago I wrote about the rush of making new friends and yesterday I had the incredible joy of rediscovering someone I already knew.
There are people you meet at different points of your life and depending on how you feel, the conditions that brought you together, the kind of interactions you have, you either click or you don’t. Some times you have the impression that you might click but the opportunity doesn’t come. Other times you never even get that far. This person is in the periphery of your life for a while and you have a vague recollection of them but it never becomes more than that.
This happens to me a lot with friends of good friends. People that I see on occasions where my good friend collects all of his friends, sometimes leave me with the impression that if only I saw them more often or in different circumstances, we could be more than acquaintances.
A long time later, for some reason or another, you find yourself with this person again. Maybe you called them to ask a favor, maybe you ran into them in a street and felt in need of company, maybe they called you. That’s the moment when the occasion arises. That’s the moment you realize maybe this person isn’t the way you remember. Often times, you remember the person vaguely since the last time you saw them was at some occasion for your friend or a gathering where you both happened to attend. For some reason or another, this time you sit down and talk. Without the presence of other people or the superficial gatherings. And you realize that this person is someone you should have gotten to know a long time ago. Someone who gives you the same rush of knowing a brand new person but the comfort and familiarity of an old friend.
The best of both worlds.
The nice thing about having an old acquaintance become a new friend is that since neither of you remembers each other all that well, you don’t make any assumptions about each other. When you see an old friend after many years, he tends to assume that you’re still the same person since all the memories from the last time you hung out are often still vivid. I find that most really good friends that I’ve disconnected with are harder to bring back into my life. Even if they can move past the assumption stage, they rarely bother to get to know me again. Especially if the qualities/interests that brought us together in the first place are no longer there.
The person at the periphery of your life might have some ideas about the person they thought you were, too, but since they are vague, it’s easier to wipe them and start over without feeling a major loss. It isn’t so threatening because if you don’t click this time, it’s no big deal; you’re not destroying a past relationship.
Reconnecting with an old acquaintance is like discovering a treasure that lay before your eyes the entire time.
Previously? Pendulum.
Each time I meet someone I’ve known through the web, I wonder how our first interaction will be. I try to imagine sitting in the restaurant and wonder what sort of conversation we will have. Will it be awkward or will it be as if we’d been buddies all along?
Will I even recognize the face?
I wrote about meeting web people before. Rony and Daphna definitely were like longtime friends. Within minutes, we were conversing as if we hang out regularly. Since they were the first official people we met from the online world (well, not entirely true, but at least the first official people we met from the weblogging world), I wasn’t sure if they were the norm or the exception.
A few months and at least ten more meetings with different people showed me that as special as the Tako couple are, and they are special, there is some sort of ease when meeting people that seem to share an online world with you. I don’t know if it comes from the comfort that’s raised from frank email or AIM conversations, or it’s that people who choose to express themselves on the net are a certain kind of people who blend easily when face to face.
Yesterday, I met four more such people. Two who live a few blocks from my house, one who can be considered a neighbor and another who came from miles and miles away. Four different people with four different personalities, four different backgrounds, four different styles, four different priorities. Five, if you include me.
Walking down the street to the diner, I recognized them without a problem. How many other people carry identical cameras? A two-hour lunch went from topic to topic without an awkward pause. The weird thing about meeting these people is that they may physically be strangers, as we’d never previously met face to face, but we knew much about each other.
So the awkwardness of talking to a stranger doesn’t enter the picture. And yet, you haven’t really met this person ever before, so it’s still full of the excitement of meeting a new person. Talking about different interests, listening and agreeing and laughing.
It’s not like hanging out with an old friend, nor is it like being introduced to a brand new person. It’s an amalgamation that’s unique to the world it emerges from. It’s fun, it’s interesting, it’s unusual, it’s memorable.
And it’s always worthwhile.
Previously? A Moment.
I pick up the receiver and put it back down. I want to call. I think I want to. I know I want to. But I can’t. A call I made thousands of times, a call that used to be a routine part of my day.
Not this time. Not anymore. Now it comes loaded with ‘issues.’ Bits of conversations we never had, words that will not be exchanged. And each time I dial the digits, I wonder how the conversation will go. Will it be lively and fake or cordial and short? Will I play along or will I blow up? Should I play along or should I push it?
It feels like it’s been so long. It’s well past the irrevocable stage. I try to recall the past. More than anything, I remember the laughter. And then the tears. The problems. The distance. I wonder whether I’d been imagining it all along. Maybe it was never more than what it is now. It’s so easy to fall into the pit of self-pity. So easy to stop fighting. So easy to back off. To stop dialing.
Yet it’s so hard to let go.
~~~
“Are you lonely?”
The words sound so odd coming from this practical stranger. I act defensively. “I’m not lonely,” I say, hoping he didn’t hear the tone of indignation in my voice. “I mean not really,” I add, smiling. I list my friends, all over the world. Ireland, Canada, Missouri, and Turkey. Some I haven’t talked to in over a month, most I haven’t seen in over a year. “I have two really close friends in New York,” I say. But I don’t add the recent downturns in either. “Not to mention my wonderful boyfriend, who’s my best friend.”
He nods kindly. We both know that’s not what he means.
“In some ways, ” I relent. “Maybe.”
Someone interrupts and we never come back to it. Almost twenty hours later, I’m still pondering the honest answer.
~~~
I promise myself that I won’t ask. I repeat it over and over again. Not this time. I’ll just sit there and wait until he feels ready to share. I’ve never been good with silence. Not with him.
As if to prove my point, I blurt it out several minutes into the evening “What’re you thinking?” I make a mental note to kick my ass when I get home and smile awkwardly.
He smiles back. I wonder if it brings back memories for him, too. I already know his reply before it leaves his lips. “Nothing.” It’s always is. I don’t know why I bother. Yet I do, time and time again. I squeeze his hand and give up. Only to repeat my question ten minutes later.
I simply can’t let it be.
~~~
Previously? UBC.
I found something new that makes me horny.
This is less a trait and more like an event that gives me the same rush as being turned on. In the last two weeks, I’ve had the inklings of two new friendships.
There’s something mentally titillating about making a new friend. You’re with this new person who knows so very little about you and vice versa. There’s an unlimited amount of potential conversations. There are no preconceived notions, no assumptions, no dirty history to drag up. It’s brand new and full of possibilities.
New friends open up new worlds. Boundless conversations. New ideas. Someone else’s story, their life, their thoughts, their creativity. When I meet someone new, I can’t stop thinking about them. I want to hang out with them continuously. When I recall tidbits of our conversations, I smile. It’s like my mind is on overdrive. The fun thing is that of my two new possible friends one is a female and the other a male, so I know my excitement is not gender specific.
It’s the same exhilaration I get from learning. The idea of knowing something you didn’t, the way it changes your mind, your thought process. A new friend, to me, is a new perspective. A new pair of eyes to see life through. Someone who introduces me to a new set of paths.
My two new friends are completely different from each other. They have different pasts, different presents and most likely different futures. But they’ve both already added seeds into my life. They’re a part of my present and will affect my future in some way or another, even if they’re not physically in it. Since they help me expand my mind, I find myself horny for the mental stimulation.
Old friends, loved ones and family are indispensable. They are people who love you the way you are. They know your past, they’ve lived it with you. They have weathered the good and the bad with you. And you know they will be there no matter how far apart you might be physically. They are like a safety blanket.
New friends may come and go. They might turn into something more lasting, or they might never be more than momentary, but even that single moment leaves its traces in your life. Snippets of dialogue. Memories of a shared laugh. A new way to look at an old idea. All of these are just as indispensable.
New friends replenish my mind and revive my mood.
Previously? Satisfaction.
Is there an age when the world suddenly starts falling apart?
An age when life-long friends suddenly seem to disappear?
I don’t have that many close friends. I don’t feel like I want to. For me, being a close friend in an intense experience. This is not just a friend. This is someone who is there through the thick and thin. Someone who knows you so well that, you don’t need to say anything for them to understand everything. You know what I mean. It’s all the stereotypical movie stuff.
I guess that friend for me is Jake. The one who loves me not in spite of my quirks but because of them.
Other than him, I had a few close friends. Some I met in college, some before, and some after. All are special. All have significant places in my heart.
All are starting to disappear.
As far as I am concerned, short of death or illness, there are few more awful feelings than losing a friend. One of those few, is limbo.
I hate limbo.
Limbo is when you’re still friends but you know something is wrong. Limbo is when you start thinking whether it’s a good time before you make each call. Limbo is when you are reading into each word so much that conversations start losing meaning. Limbo is when some of the calls get returned and others don’t. Limbo is when you alternate among acting nonchalant, sad and angry. Limbo is when you stop being yourself. Limbo is when you want to grab her and shake her until whatever it is, is gone, but you can’t.
Limbo is when you know it’s dying.
Limbo is what I’m going through with two of my close friends. The uneasy calls. The paranoia. The unusual politeness. Not knowing what’s going on. Feeling scared, lost and angry all in one. Desperate to do the right thing. To stop the inevitable.
I don’t know why it’s happening now. Is there something about growing up?
Is it really possible to have the friendship that the books and movies display? Can you really have a friend who’s normal and has her own family and life and yet is there for you each time you need her? Is it possible to have a great family, husband, children, career and a best friend? Or is it more realistic to assume that you have a friend to hang out and chitchat with but nothing all that deep?
Maybe it’s time to accept that life is not the movies and not a fairy tale. In life, we have friends that come and go. In life we have limbo. Maybe it’s time to let go.
I can’t imagine it will hurt as much as limbo.
Previously? Hedonism.
What if I promise that I will respond to your email, but never do?
Would you get mad? Would you be frustrated? Would you think I’m inconsiderate? Thoughtless? Snotty?
What if you then find out I meant to write back to you? I truly intended to, but something happened. Life got in the way. Or I didn’t reply because I’ve been sick. Overwhelmed at work. Out of the city. Depressed.
Does that change your feelings about me and my not having replied to your email?
How much does intent play into your judgement of my behavior? Do you care only about the outcome regardless of what I meant to do? Or do you care that I had noble intentions?
In law, intent plays a crucial role. One of the biggest differences between murder one and the different kinds is intent. “Did you actually plan to kill this person?” is an important question and distinction that the government recognizes.
Yet, in our day to day life we don’t pay much attention to intent. We’re very much about the “bottom-line.” We rarely give people the benefit of the doubt. If we get no reply to an email, we assume the person is blowing us off. We judge the person’s character on that behavior. Or lack thereof.
So which one matters more?
I know the answer’s going to be “it depends.” Almost nothing in life is black and white. There are often cases where we might change our values or beliefs. Maybe we can only make a call on a case by case condition. Maybe it depends on what stopped me. If I was sick, it might have more of a bearing on your forgiving me than if I had work to do. Or maybe it depends on the nature of the act. Not replying to email might not be the end of the world, whereas not showing up for your wedding is more hurtful and therefore less forgivable regardless of my intent.
I don’t have the answers.
Do you?
How much do my intentions really matter?
Previously? The Burn.
A friend of mine recently sent me some bad news.
She’s been going through some tough times with a friend and she told me that she knew I’d say “I told you so” and I’d be right.
The first thought that crossed my mind as I read the words was “I’d never say that.” What’s the point of making such a cruel comment to someone who’s already suffering? The more I thought about it, the more stupid it seemed to me. Was I really the sort of person to make such a remark?
I called up my friend and told her how badly I felt for her recent falling out and how much I wished she’d work things out eventually. I said, “I wouldn’t say ‘I told you so’ I would have never wanted you to have to go through this.” She thanked me and we chatted for a brief period before it was time for me to get on the plane to Turkey.
Even though she didn’t say, or probably even imply, that I was a vindictive person, the idea of getting satisfaction from having been right about her potential to have a falling out with her friend felt disgusting. The more I thought about the phrase the more repulsive it became in my mind. If I were the sort of person to enjoy being right so much, I needed to change immediately.
Giving advice is not necessarily a bad thing. Often times if a friend asks for my opinion on a subject matter, I’m more than happy to offer my opinion of experience with the subject matter. Especially if the friend is someone on whom I can count to take my words as nothing more than my opinion. I don’t want people to do as I say, I just want to offer them my perspective, as I believe in hearing everyone out before I make a decision.
I also get annoyed at people who give me advice and then get cross if I decide not to do exactly as they recommended. What these people seem to fail to understand is that this is my life. I need to make and be responsible for my own decisions so that if something doesn’t turn out as expected, I only have myself to blame. Disappointments are hard enough to live with as is, the last thing I need is the excuse to blame it on someone else. Nor do I want anyone putting the responsibility of their own misfortune on me.
And ‘I told you so’ accomplishes nothing besides making everything about you. It’s as if you’re saying ‘See you messed up you life, cause you didn’t listen to me. You didn’t take my advice as gospel and now you’re screwed.’ It doesn’t matter if the friend is sad, all you’re thinking of is gloating about how you were right.
Talk about a good friend.
Previously? Home Again.
I used to be one of those girls who brag about not being friends with women.
Well, I didn’t brag, really, but I would always point out that I have much closer male friends than female ones. I grew up with discouraging female friends. All the women around me were catty and self-centered and shallow. To be honest, so were the men. But as soon as I broke off from that crowd, I consistently picked men as best friends.
By high school, I had a few female friends, but with the exception of one, I had problems with all. I don’t know if it’s due us being the same gender and thus allowing for more comparisons, but I still thought that women were less trustworthy. A few of the women whom I considered close friends have regularly, over the years, let me down when I least expected.
I’ve considered women as more calculating, more out-for-herself type and backstabbing. God forbid anyone who stands in the way of a woman who’s determined to reach a goal. Even if that person is her supposed best friend.
I’ve had close friends date my exes, bash my boyfriend to his face, talk bad things behind my back and just be outright cruel at times.
A male friend has never done any of those things to me.
My male close friends, and I’ve had quite a few, have mostly been less intense and generally couldn’t relate to certain “female” issues I had, but overall they were more reliable, a whole lot more fun and less likely to ditch me when they found a significant other.
Today, my closest friend is Jake, but other than him, I have friends of both genders. I’ve realized that different genders offer different benefits and points of view to my life. Depending on what my problem is, I reach out to whomever I believe will support me and whomever will give me good insight.
I’ve stopped believing that it has anything to do with gender. People are just people. There are women who make crappy friends and women who make fantastic ones. A woman who might be a terrible fit for me, could easily be the best buddy of someone else. Same goes for men. I don’t think only being friends with the opposite gender makes me sound cool.
At least, not anymore.
I think it makes me sound immature.
Previously? First One.
I tend to make friends easily.
Well, maybe not friends but acquaintances. For the most part, I’m outgoing and it’s easy to hold conversations with me. So at a party, I mingle well and make many acquaintances. I’m also often spread thin so I know many people from different situations/commitments. During college, I knew just about anyone in my year and the two years above and below me.
Becoming my friend, however, is a complicated and time-consuming task. Probably as a result of my past, I take a real long time to truly trust a person.
Having said that, once someone becomes my friend, it’s pretty much a done deal for life. I try to always to my best to be there for my friends and make sure that they always feel comfortable coming to me for anything. I’m not trying to boast, I believe that’s what friendship is all about, so I’m no more special than the next person.
So what do I do when a friend hurts me? How much do I forgive? How far is too far?
Such questions occupy my mind at times. Some people would say that you should always forgive accidental malice and others would say friends should know better. I would assume the ranges of unacceptable behavior would change from person to person. I have my own list. What’s on yours?
I’ve lost friends from not having kept in touch. I’ve lost friends from our priorities and routes having split. I’ve lost friends due to large distances that came between us. But all of those are temporary losses. As soon as our paths cross once more, it will be like we never parted.
The ones who’ve hurt me will have a totally different fate. Over the years, I’ve learned to forgive, but I don’t think I will ever learn to forget. I never forget my own fuck-ups, why should I forget others’? To be totally honest, even though I forgive my friends things never really are the same.
That’s the problem with trust, once it’s broken it’s not truly replaceable.
If you break a vase and then glue it back together, you can still see the break marks. As much as both parties might try to ignore them, if we were all being honest, we’d have to admit that you can’t go back.
So don’t fuck with other people’s trust.
Previously? And the Chicks for Free.
I’ve never really been into bonding with women. Just not my thing and until this very night, I don’t think I could put my finger on the reason.
My firm just had a shinding for women in technology, in the firm. Imagine a fancy restaurant setting, filled with middle aged women, trying to form networking and mentoring relationships with each other.
I’m not saying that networking or mentoring are bad concepts. I just think that they can’t be administered like that. You can’t put a bunch of people in the same room and tell them to network. At least, not me. I don’t perform well on demand.
Even if we were to take the personal aspect of mentoring and networking out of the diagram, who is to say I want a female mentor? I think the assumption that just because I am a woman only other women can mentor me is a condescending assumption. Especially when talking about career issues, I can imagine many men who are more similar in thought to me than women. Not to say there aren’t issues which are specific to women, but assuming women make the best mentors for other women is wildly wrong if you ask me.
Maybe my impressions are overpowered by the fact that I feel women are inherently cattier and more conniving then men. Whatever that says or doesn’t say about men’s level of intelligence or calculating nature, it does say that sometimes men are more trustworthy then women.
Most of the women managers I’ve known are much less self-confident and secure. Many of them couldn’t care less about your career goals or lack thereof.
I’m not trying to say that there are no women who’d make great managers and mentors. One of my favorite managers in the firm is a woman. She’s a great mentor to me cause she took the time to get to know me and tries to make sure I am on the path to my goals. She doesn’t feed me her lifestyle. She doesn’t fear I’m going to take her job. She is just there for support and she is my cheerleader in the firm. And I appreciate it immensely and I talk about her everywhere.
So we both network through each other and she is one of my mentors. But none of this has to do with the fact that she’s a woman in technology and therefore understands me and where I’m coming from.
It only works cause caring for me and helping me out is something she wants to take the time to do. And those connections cannot be made at an administered event.
Previously? Antsy.
A few years ago, a really good friend of mine was going through some rough times. Instead of calling me to share and lean on, she segregated herself more and more from her surroundings. At one point, she even stopped talking to me altogether.
When I found out about her problems, later on, I was very hurt and angry that she chose to avoid me. I thought that it said a lot of negative things about our closeness. If she couldn’t come to me when she was really down, how could I say that I was there for her?
Over time, she worked through some of her issues on her own and started calling me again; we got back to hanging out and chatting. And I never brought up the distancing herself issue. Even though, deep down I still didn’t fully understand her reasoning and still felt hurt about it.
On Thanksgiving Day, I woke up with pain in my lower back and have been unable to sit for longer than ten minutes at a time since then. I have taken a multitude of medication, which is supposed burn right through my stomach. My nerves are doing the native dance of some foreign tribe.
My psychological state has gotten progressively worse each day since the end of November. Not to say I’m a total mess. Life goes on. I have good days and I have bad days. I have had ups at work, in my personal life and in my personal achievements. I’ve had days when I feel proud of myself and days when I want to hug the world.
But I’ve been avoiding all my close friends. My great friend Cheryl, who sends me encouraging mails almost daily, gets no responses. I haven’t called my best friend Laura in weeks. Emails in my inbox go unanswered for days. Not the ones from new friends, but the ones from old ones. The ones who know me well.
I think I finally understand my friend.
Previously? Dualities.
I stare at her as she sits on my bamboo chair, eating her lunch. Words, or more accurately accusations, boil up inside me but I say nothing.
As she tells me her most recent stories, I keep trying to remember how we became friends. What were the things that brought us together? That made us so close?
When I look at her now, I can’t remember a single idea we share. Can I still be friends with a person who’s the epitome of most things to which I morally oppose? Should I keep trying? Questions dance in my mind as I try hard to concentrate on her words. But I only hear bits and pieces. It’s as if she’s acting out a foreign language tape, emphasizing the important words while the others fade out into the background.
I can’t move beyond what’s so fundamentally wrong to me. My mother’s words echo in my ear; “What makes you think you know what’s best for her?” I don’t. I so don’t know what’s best for her. But I can’t imagine it’s this. Her life has had nothing but curveballs since this saga began. How many bad things must happen before we can agree it’s a sign?
It’s all so inconsequential to her. As if these aren’t real people and their lives aren’t being destroyed alongside of hers. I feel like getting up and shaking her, so her senses can move back to where they belong. And then, once more, I remember my mother’s words. I don’t know where they belong. Maybe this is their new home. Maybe this is who she’ll be from now on. I should be happy for her. In many ways, she’s more content then ever before. Shouldn’t that make me ecstatic?
Well, it doesn’t. And I know this isn’t the best for her. I know she’ll be hurt and I hate not being able to prevent it. I don’t know what’s best for her. But I know this isn’t it.
I don’t tell her anything. I’ve said all I can. Now, I just wait.
Previously? Never Mind.
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projects for twenty twenty-four
projects for twenty twenty-three
projects for twenty twenty-two
projects for twenty twenty-one
projects for twenty nineteen
projects for twenty eighteen
projects from twenty seventeen
monthly projects from previous years
some of my previous projects
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