Being Friends

“I have a few ideas about how we can respond,” he said.

“Come home,” I said.

“Or, we could speak on the phone,” he said.

Eventually he came home. There is no way any of you are interested in the why we wanted to get together. If you really are, ask me, in the comments.There’s much more to his coming home.


When I was young, friends didn’t need to ask if they could come home. They just came over. We were young, so my mother and father took care of other things: called the parents of this friend who was over and fed this friend with whatever lunch or dinner we ate. At times they slept over. Some friends are on the other side of the world. They don’t sleep over. Some of them. The others, stay back. They care less about the comfort. For them, nothing has changed.

If we ever measure our friends by their achievements, we should know that we aren’t friends. We can be proud of the achievements of our friends but that should never be the barometer of why we are friends. We are friends because we are friends and nothing should ever determine, the reason why.

The moment we ask why, something dies.


4 thoughts on “Being Friends

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