There is a box I have in my room, full of letters. Letters I have written to people, but never got to give them. I read some of them this afternoon. In particular there was a small bundle of them – about 10 letters in total- which spiked my interest.
These were all written in May, to a young man I had met around this period. May was possibly one of the worst month of this year for me. I was struggling with insane loneliness. I felt I had no friends … and the friends I did have, I did not feel like seeing them. I had a lot of work on my plate, and because of all the stress I started to feel very anxious regarding my sister’s cancer and my mother’s Parkinson’s disease. I had all these terribly negative thoughts, but the worst of these was the loneliness. That no one knew what was going on with me. I had no one to speak to.
It was natural consequently that upon meeting this young man, I instantly felt the desire to cling to him and spill out my problems. Just to let go, and form the bond I lacked and needed.
Luckily, he made some time for me. We caught up twice and on the second time I told him how sad I felt. There, I had done it. I felt better just from having told of my sadness to someone. He sympathised.
Yet I was not satisfied. I felt he didn’t properly understand. And in fact, he never suggested to see each other again after that. I was somewhat disappointed, but he had also warned me that he was a very unreliable person, and that he is also incredibly busy because of his studies in médicine.
Fast forward to July. One evening I am chatting to two friends after a music recital. Randomly this guy comes up to us and introduces himself. I had seen him once before at university, and remembered him. To say he caught my eye is an understatement. He appeared friendly, warm, and so genuine. I was attracted instantly. This is not to mention that on this first night of stumbling upon each other, he also admitted to having very few friends at university. I could relate to him so easily, and grew excited about the prospect of a new friendship.
However I thought little of it, not wanting to have huge expectations only to have them unrealised. However, I was looking to start guitar lessons and it happened that this guy played guitar. Therefore I asked him if he’d be able to give me some lessons, and he agreed.
We chatted a little over Facebook and confessed both of us lacked a friend and were going through difficult times. One afternoon after a guitar lesson we decided to have a proper catch up. I remember this afternoon as if it had happened only yesterday. We went for a walk around the university campus, and he told me about his issues. I then went through mine. And this time, I felt that – even though he couldn’t completely understand everything – his sympathy was exactly the right amount.
It is funny, but in the space of that afternoon, we had evolved from acquantainces, to proper friends.
And isn’t it weird, that I became friends with him, rather than the young man I had met back in May? Isn’t it weird how in life, things work out only with some people? When you’re willing to put in exactly the same amount of committment into one relationship, why is it that with one person it works out perfectly, and with another, it just doesn’t?
Him & I are still friends, and I believe we will always be. I guess we are both heavily attracted to real committment, whether it be in our career objectives, friendships or relationships. Neither of us really appreciate every day chit-chat. We prefer connections, and we’ve managed to create one between us.
Re-reading those letters I had written to someone else back in May has made me realise what a special friend he is. Not only has he listened to my sadness, and comforted me in times of grief, but we have become really close, and value, respect, and appreciate each other a lot.
( PS: pretty much all of this blog is about him! As well as appreciating his friendship I sort of have a huge crush on him …)