The very first thing you asked me was what I remembered of you from our childhood.

I don’t remember all the tiny details of what our friendship was like when we were both children but the strongest recollection that burns in memory till today is our shared love for books. We were always reading, and with a kind of ferocity and curiosity that was a slightly anomalous since our classmates were mostly playing out on the field or chit-chatting. But we didn’t care about being nerds with thick glasses at all. We’d suggest titles to each other to read, authors to check out, stories that have moved us. We read at a level beyond our peers but could easily absorb and understand them to the extent that we’d fervently discuss the characters and plot and events.

Once, our primary school form teacher confiscated a book she saw you reading that opened with a one night stand. Understandably, we were seen as too young to read literature that had any kind of rated content for they probably thought it would pollute our minds and distract us from our studies. But looking back now, it was merely a contributing part to larger, more complex themes of intimacy, connection and relationships. We probably didn’t have a clear capacity or ability to identify these elements of literature, but I believe now, deep down, that we did have an idea. A vague one, perhaps, but even so, an inkling and understanding of the complexity and nuances of the human experience conveyed through the written word.

While we’ve had many silly quarrels and cold-wars, as most little children do, we’ve always somehow made up and buried the hatchet because we knew the friendship took priority over our pride and petty concerns, something I’ve come to realise that many adults far more advanced in age than us could, or would, not see, and of which I valued and was grateful for. That is one of the main reasons why I insistently choose not to give up on you and our friendship even after we’ve drifted apart through our teenage years and despite the feelings of hurt and inadequacy I felt when you kept pushing me away or appeared reluctant to keep in contact.

I was pleasantly surprised and relieved that you decided to approach me again, properly, 6 years after we’d left primary school. When you told me the problems you were facing, I saw myself reflected in most of the worries you were grappling with, as hard as it is to believe. To you, I’ve appeared to make immense progress ever since we went on separate paths from the forked crossroad we were both standing at. But all this while, I’ve struggled with issues as you have. In fact, I still am, till this day.

We began to realise from long heart-to-hearts that we both didn’t want to rant excessively and incessantly about the tiny wars we were having each day, so we both inferred from what we chose to share that we were more or less holding up, aside from little hiccups. Funny how it’s only when we’re openly vulnerable and willing to reach out, do we start to discover and connect deeper with another. Is putting on a strong front, even to the people you know you can trust, a part of growing up? If so, we do urgently need to remember the days as children when we used to think nothing of telling our friends and family all the things that matter to us, from the little cut on our big toe to the anxiety of attending school, not merely as a means of seeking attention but developing relationships and depending on each other.

Being the intensely sentimental type (just like you), I’ve been pondering a great deal about friendship and its delicate, fleeting nature – how the people we connect with so intimately  for a period of time could easily become mere acquaintances and cloudy figures in our memories. If there’s one particular quality of lasting, reliable friendships I’ve learnt, then, is this reciprocative knowledge and desire to help, take care and look out for each other through no matter where we are and how long it’s been.

The very first thing you asked me is what I remember of you from our childhood. But through our conversations, you have also reminded me of parts of myself I’ve forgotten and long to get in touch with again. We all need that once in a while – friends who carefully preserve facets of us in their memories that have subconsciously slipped away from ours, hold up mirrors and fill up the spaces we tend to overlook. You might not truly know the extent of which you have helped me, but you surely have. It’s not easy at all to remember what we unapologetically and unabashedly were, as children, but it’s so important for that was us in our truest, trustiest form. And that’s who we can still be.