I wasn’t someone who had many friends growing up. Being the eldest daughter in my family didn’t afford me the freedom to be out and about making friends (and maintaining them). My early school days revolved around getting good grades, attending extensive after-school courses, and teaching my younger brothers how to write “apple” in a legible way (A hellish daily filler because brothers tend not to listen to their elder sister). My truest companions were the books my parents bought for me—companions that thankfully grew into a lifelong passion I still cherish today.
I didn’t quite understand what genuine friendship looked like, I was bullied since day one at school. My chairmate took every of my school equipments, I walked home with an empty bag but books. During my teenage years, I lost friends to drugs, tragic traffic accidents, and reckless hobbies. I had a small circle of friendship that I thought would last forever, because we had a “splendid” time in high school. However, we eventually surrendered to the way the adulthood separated us. As I grew older, I fell in love for good friends who turned into my worst enemies, or worse—strangers. And when that wasn’t the case, fate had its way of intervening—they passed away too soon.
I didn’t understand companionship; I had always been content doing everything on my own—or eventually doing it on my own in discontent. I had always tried to find this so-called magical companion, the one who would complete the picture I had in my mind. Yet, more often than not, it ended in a bad way. I thought to myself: So, why bother forging friendships? Why invest in something I know is unlikely to last?
Flash Forward to Recently
One rainy May evening, I remember having quite a bad day and was bothered by a financial struggle. However, that night I also had some conversations with my closest friends. It was quite late. We sat in a circle on the carpet, sharing tea and cake. The soothing aroma of rooibos tea and vanilla buttercream cake filled the air, and mingling with the earthy scent of musk. We had nowhere to go, the rain caged us comfortably. As always seemed to happen in this circle, our lighthearted conversation effortlessly turned into something deeper. Someone began by sharing how life had been different before we met, and soon, everyone took turns sharing their own version. There were funny stories that filled the room with laughter, and there were somber tales too—stories that brought tears to the storyteller. In that moment, I felt a sudden and profound sense of wholeness.
On the night like this, I never felt more rich. I had the feeling that I will be alright and everything is more than enough. I had a feeling that this world was within reach, it was irrevocable. If I needed money, I could always get it. I could teach a new class, I could smuggle gold, I could sell prohibited goods, I could sell my kidneys, or I could become a $100 phone sex operator, and none of it would matter. I know with all my heart that the people sitting with me would go to great lengths to support me in times of need, and I am certain they would never abandon me. I had traveled the world searching to feel this whole, to have this unwavering conviction, and I finally found it here—with them.
I Learned My Lesson
In retrospect, I realized that I currated my friendships. I thought that’s what we were supposed to do—choose the “right” people. I avoided anyone I found annoying: those who borrowed books and never returned them, or well— returned them dog-eared. I couldn’t imagine befriending someone who didn’t enjoy reading or share my taste in music. I convinced myself that if I surrounded myself with people who mirrored my interests and preferences, I would find happiness. I believed that companionship was built on perfect similarity.
But then it dawned on me: if this was the foundation of my friendships, if this was all I sought in others, then what I was really trying to do was befriend … myself.
And that realization hit me hard. One, I do not have a good relationship with myself, which becomes the root of this senseless perfectionism.
Two, friendship isn’t about finding clones of myself; it’s about embracing differences, learning from each other, and growing together. The people who shaped me the most weren’t those who shared every interest or trait of mine. They were the ones who challenged my perspective, introduced me to new ideas, and supported me in ways I never anticipated. I was seeking for “the” perfect friendship, but genuinity will never grow where perfection exists. I need to remember this constantly.
I began to see that true companionship isn’t about building a circle of people who reflect my own image but about understanding friction of differences, the give-and-take of disagreements, and the mutual respect despite those disagreements.
Lastly, this is how I know that I have finally found my circle. This is how I know that I am no longer wandering aimlessly, searching for a place to belong. These people, with their quirks, imperfections, and boundless differences, have shown me that true companionship isn’t fleeting—it’s enduring.
A (V) in Writing: 