Even in the middle of ten thousand people, I am alone.
I have thought of writing about friends for a while, but I have never felt like it. Until today, I guess. What are they really? How good friend is a good friend? If you’re a friend, does that not immediately mean you’re a good friend?
The society’s tendency to classify absolutely everyone you’ve known by their forename for a second as a friend is tedious for me. I most certainly do not do that — however, I also find that trust does not really follow that category. I guess it could: trusting people more if you know them better or for longer, classify them as friends.
Yet I know that there are people I would trust with nearly anything but I don’t really consider them as friends. I don’t even know why — I just guess it is difficult for me to bring anyone to the same level as people I’ve known for fifteen years.
But as I said, that does not necessarily matter. If there are two paths, and on one of those you get a few good people you know well and on the other there are loads of people that are known not-that-well, I am very much a person for the first choice. And I do not mind that at all — it is the easier and more natural option for me.
However, along with all this I am still rather good at guessing what people are about, at least if I can spend a certain time in their company. And that makes me understanding but also cruel in instances where my patience disappears. Self-control is the one item I mostly have (even my dream today was a metaphoric take on that, for some odd reason), except when I need it. Funny how that works.
In the end though, friends and trusting comes down to questions for me. I am not inclined to start talking of myself without someone asking a question in that direction beforehand. So, I remain unknown to most: no one thinks (or dares?) to ask that first question.
Even with ten thousand friends, I would be alone.
Maybe that is for the better.