Friends

Old Friends

It's been a long time since I wrote free-form like this. In high school and college, I used to do it all the time. Back then, I had friends. The life-long kind. The not-long-distance kind.

The kind of friends where, when you were done with work or studies or whatever, you never really had to wonder where you were going. Because it didn't matter where you were going to go; you were going to go with friends.

I had friends who risked their lives to help me cross a mountain pass in a blizzard to see my dying sister one last time. I had friends who held me when I wept and celebrated with me when I achieved something. They played with me, ached with me, grew with me, and strengthened me.

And I was lucky enough to be in a position to repay their friendship with my own. To declare, in spite of the god of my youth, that I would not reject my friend for his identity. To stand in weddings and smile or cry as I celebrated the joy of one of my friends declaring their love for another. To provide aid, comfort, maybe even a spot of wisdom or perspective, when a friend's life hit an unexpected dead-end.

It is an exercise for the reader to decide which is more blessed: to have friends or be a friend.

The Friend

But the intervening years intervened, and I find my friend-scape markedly different now. I have the best friend I could've ever asked for in my wife, Begüm. And we spend nearly every waking hour together. I'm eternally grateful for this friendship.

In fact, it is the exact sort of friendship I longed for—ached for—in those young years. Back then, a not-insignificant amount of time spent with friends consisted of pining for what I have now. How could I have known that, to find such a friend, I would have to destroy my life, rebuild it, and then move to a town full of strangers? A town where I would meet a girl whose heart was formed across the globe, but was found to beat in perfect synchrony with my own?

A Shift in Focus

A picture of my youthful friendships would best be rendered as a landscape. It was vibrant and varied, with multiple colors and forms to attract attention. Some large features dominated significant portions of the view, but it was the panorama that defined its own beauty.

Today, friendship has narrowed to a portrait. My friendship is directed with an unabashed focus on one primary subject. With increased focus comes increased detail—details that sometimes resemble flaws. Yet, these flaws serve to enhance the realism of the painting rather than degrade its value. And while certain background features serve to both enhance and frame the form, the subject remains clear, singular, and unambiguous.

A Birds' New Feathers

Perhaps one of the reasons I found such a broad tapestry of friendships in my youth is that—for better or worse—I was surrounded by people with similar passions and worldviews. A religious upbringing, with all it's faults, rarely fails to render at least that much to its subjects.

In lieu of these interests, I have discovered a deep passion for computers. Not technology, per se. I don't care about the latest Beats headphones or even the newest iPhone release anymore.

No, I want to know more-and-more about computers: how they work and what can be done with them. In the past, computers were a means to an end for me. Today, they have become an end in themselves. And it is around that passion that I have met a new group of friends.

These new friends have been interested in computers in this way for decades more than I have. And as such, they have served as excellent guides and teachers to show me all the incredible ideas I'd missed.

I think—at least I hope—they see my genuine enthusiasm for the same things they're enthusiastic about. And I feel like that shared interest is creating really meaningful bonds that are starting to feel like the landscape of friendships I thought I had to forsake by losing my religion, leaving my homeland, and loving someone so wholly.

And so, my life today is a gift for which I can only be grateful.