I knew him from the time before the walls set in. But that’s not why we remained friends for the next two decades. The thing about a friendship as old as ours is that growing up we never walled each other out. So when 32 months ago he died of suicide, I couldn’t help but question did he ever let me in to begin with?
But twenty years of knowing him never prepared me for the time he would do the leaving. All my life he had shown me friendship was staying, even if no one stayed, and never letting go. But suddenly he was gone somewhere and I didn’t know where to follow him to. There was no whisper of discontent, no signs of sorrow, and no goodbye. One day he was here telling me he would come to see me next time he had time off and a few days later he was gone without a trail.
See, we became friends way before we even understood what friendship stood for. So it made me question the very basis of our friendship. Was it really friendship even if he couldn’t let me in? Had I catastrophically failed the one friendship I held dear above all else?
Ever since he died I have been at war with myself. On one hand I tell myself that he was my friend because he loved me. He was there with me all through my pains because he cared. But on the other hand I felt that if he truly was my friend, why did he leave me like this? Over the years we have grown relying on one another’s strength and patience. But suddenly it seems everything I knew was an illusion and I wasn’t sure anymore of what we had. It scared me that someone I thought I knew so well, kept this pain so well-hidden. It makes me question sometimes if this side was truly hidden from me or was I oblivious to it all. And more importantly am I even worthy of his friendship?
Some days I want to tell his story amongst friends, people who have known him just like I have. But these days when I meet people I start the story of my life with the name of the boy I’ll never forget.
Amar Shobdo 