I know the lure of friendship. I know you are thinking it means we open our lives to the people we call our friends. But sometimes it happens like this. We open our lives, our smiles, but close the doors to changes in perception.
I’ll always be your hero. The one with all the answers, so I didn’t have the heart to tell you that I was haunted by questions too. It not that I didn’t trust our friendship or think you wouldn’t be able to understand my problems, I just didn’t know how to word out my restlessness.
To me, you will always be that girl, the one who had all these amazing stories inside of her. That little girl who meticulously collected Barbies, whose parents indulged her childish whims. You will always be the girl afraid of loud noises, fights and confrontation. I still see you sitting in the balcony holding your hands to your ears, because of fight next door. You were to be protected from all the harshness in the world. So even now, it is hard for me to bring darkness in your life.
To me, you will always be the girl who had to grow up all too fast. You were the girl whose dreams came true, all at the wrong times and turned her life into a nightmare. You were the girl who did everything right and yet her ending got all screwed up. So even now, I don’t have the strength to tell you that I am about to hand you another tragedy to add to your life. I can’t tell you, over the phone, you did everything right, yet I am about to die.
I would tell you though, you will go through it and come out on the other end – alive. Because that’s who you are. You don’t know any other way to live. I can’t tell you how many times I wished I had that in me. Sometimes though, it’s not enough. Being alive and living are two different things and I don’t know how to do one without the other. So don’t think of me as if I am dying. Whenever you think of me, think of all those times we have lived. Remember the laughter that keeps ringing in my ears, even now as I sit down to write. Remember the long rickshaw rides, the setting sun and the promise of friendship we have made to each other. Remember to call my mother, especially because she wouldn’t expect any calls from me. Tell her all the things you would have told me. Fine, if not all that, tell her stories of the past. Tell her the stories inside of you. Tell her about me. I know she would never forget, neither would you. But speak of me, because every time my name falls from your lips, I’ll live a little longer again.
Don’t peek into the past in search for reasons. Do not color our childhood, our memories trying to decipher the point from where it all went downhill. Don’t blame yourself, live in guilt or shame or pain. I wouldn’t want you to do that to yourself. Don’t beat yourself up thinking what you could have said to alter this course of my life. I would never give you this burden. So live. Live enough for the both of us.
Because the true lure of friendship is promises. Promise me, you’ll be okay, you will get through this and keep on holding on to me. Promise me, you will be a friend enough to know when to let go. Once, you had said to me that I was your anchor. I guess it didn’t occur to you that anchors have to sink all the way to the bottom, before it can hold anything else in place. I promise, even as I go down, I’ll keep anchoring you on.
Amar Shobdo 