It’s been a long time since I finished a book in a single sitting, a matter of hours. I believe the last time it happened was at least four years ago when I flew through Burmese Days months before the respective assignment was due for my history course. The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants was filled with lessons of friendship, of love, of life, of learning about oneself. It made me laugh and it made me cry. I got anxious and I got excited. I became angry and I became reflective.
The reflection is coming on stronger, now that I have finished reading and had a bit of time to digest it all. What is most painfully noticeable is that I miss my friends. I always find myself coming back to this, no matter how old I get. My mind drifts back to the close knit friends, particularly from high school, during a time when we were trying to understand ourselves, make sense of life, and dabbling in love. We were each others’ worlds, offering comfort, support, courage, fun, unity. Perhaps, this is just a romanticized notion of how friendship should be, an ideal that I desperately keep grasping for, even though it continues to fade away into a bleak abyss.
In adulthood, friendships like that don’t exist anymore, at least not long-lasting. Now, it is all about time, place, convenience. We seem to enter each others’ lives for a short time for some unknown purpose, which will change us, change our lives. And then, in a flash, just when it seems true, just when it feels real, it’s gone, and I am left with the reality that I really only have me. It becomes more challenging as life presses on and our worlds expand to maintain friendships, even those that meant the most to us because we can’t be everywhere at once. There are so many limiting factors and we must take care of ourselves first, so that we may be capable of showing compassion for others. Yet, too often, I think we take over our own lives. It becomes difficult to see outside of our immediate surrounding, especially since there is always so much going on.
The reflection is coming on stronger, now that I have finished reading and had a bit of time to digest it all. What is most painfully noticeable is that I miss my friends. I always find myself coming back to this, no matter how old I get. My mind drifts back to the close knit friends, particularly from high school, during a time when we were trying to understand ourselves, make sense of life, and dabbling in love. We were each others’ worlds, offering comfort, support, courage, fun, unity. Perhaps, this is just a romanticized notion of how friendship should be, an ideal that I desperately keep grasping for, even though it continues to fade away into a bleak abyss.
In adulthood, friendships like that don’t exist anymore, at least not long-lasting. Now, it is all about time, place, convenience. We seem to enter each others’ lives for a short time for some unknown purpose, which will change us, change our lives. And then, in a flash, just when it seems true, just when it feels real, it’s gone, and I am left with the reality that I really only have me. It becomes more challenging as life presses on and our worlds expand to maintain friendships, even those that meant the most to us because we can’t be everywhere at once. There are so many limiting factors and we must take care of ourselves first, so that we may be capable of showing compassion for others. Yet, too often, I think we take over our own lives. It becomes difficult to see outside of our immediate surrounding, especially since there is always so much going on.
I am not looking to find fault in anyone. I am not pointing fingers. I am just as guilty in this as anyone else, having gradually abandoned the friends, who I now long for or at least the memory of our friendship, in the face of a blossoming romance. I was responsible for isolating myself, finding myself alone once love had faded. Now, when I find myself picking out the flaws of others, I try to catch myself and reverse that scrutiny back upon myself, for I know that I am guilty of the same negative behaviors that are so obvious to me. As I identify these, I try to improve upon them as I am able and willing, yet some may remain with nothing more than a longing, a hope, or a memory.
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