There was a time in my life (mid-teens) when lines were clearly drawn, boundaries devoutly demarcated: friends are friends, best friends are best friends, potential love interests are fleeting, and NEVER the twain shall meet. These distinctions were important back then, because all my best friends were hormonal teenage boys who had an alarming propensity to suddenly develop this mysterious thing called “feelings” for me. I eventually worked out that these “feelings” coincided with me hitting puberty and developing a decent-sized rack, so I managed to maintain a healthy sense of skepticism and didn’t let the attention go to my head (much).
Around the time I hit 20, I had a stellar group of friends and we were all quite grounded in our love for each other – it was there, it was solid, it was non-negotiable (much to the chagrin of several over-possessive girlfriends and boyfriends who came and went). If there was a time when any of us within the group suspected we might be developing feelings for each other (and you throw a group of 20-somethings together, it’s kinda inevitable), we dealt with it with a minimum of fuss and drama – things NEVER worked out (sad, but true), so we quietly went back to being best friends and promptly resumed the ridiculously comfortable camaraderie we had always shared. I don’t know whether this was a sign of the maturity we possessed (I SERIOUSLY doubt it) or simply the fact that it was ingrained in our psyches that no relationship (or lack thereof) could ever possibly be as satisfying as the friendship we shared.
I often wonder why things didn’t go better. There have been several men and women in the group who have, on occasion, suddenly seemed to wake up to the fact that maybe they felt more than just friendship. But despite knowing each other for eons, knowing every thought and feeling and PMS-induced moodswing, things would invariably go awry. When you’ve known someone for years and years, does that make it easier or more difficult to fall in love with them? I wonder if getting into a relationship when you’ve already seen the frog’s warts is a bad idea…those relationships where you keep discovering things about each other seem to work out better than the ones where you’ve seen each other in tattered boxers, or without make-up, or witnessed each others’ severe morning breath on overnight trips to Pune and Goa.
It’s been about a decade now, and all of us are in our mid-to-late 20s, scattered across the globe; some dating, some engaged, some blissfully single and some scarred by past relationships. Distance and jobs and different time zones make it difficult for us to talk everyday, but we’re all so secure in the knowledge that we love each other, it doesn’t matter. Boyfriends and girlfriends will come and go, but we’ve all stood the test of time, and bad hair days, and acne, and psychotic significant others. The days of wondering ‘what if’ about each other are over, because we’ve settled into our comfortable grooves…furniture, if you will…I’m the bean bag in front of the tv, N.M. is the sofa in the corner, D.S. is the recliner over there…etc. We’ve confidently declared that we’re all pooling in our money to buy a huge house so we can all move in together – something big enough to give each of us our own space, but small enough to keep us close together. And, of course, we’ll all be going into the same retirement home in our 80s, where we’ll terrorize the staff by having wheelchair races in the corridors.
Childish fantasy? Sure. Unrealistic? Maybe. Naïve? Definitely.
But it keeps us going. It’s our version of happily ever after.
Around the time I hit 20, I had a stellar group of friends and we were all quite grounded in our love for each other – it was there, it was solid, it was non-negotiable (much to the chagrin of several over-possessive girlfriends and boyfriends who came and went). If there was a time when any of us within the group suspected we might be developing feelings for each other (and you throw a group of 20-somethings together, it’s kinda inevitable), we dealt with it with a minimum of fuss and drama – things NEVER worked out (sad, but true), so we quietly went back to being best friends and promptly resumed the ridiculously comfortable camaraderie we had always shared. I don’t know whether this was a sign of the maturity we possessed (I SERIOUSLY doubt it) or simply the fact that it was ingrained in our psyches that no relationship (or lack thereof) could ever possibly be as satisfying as the friendship we shared.
I often wonder why things didn’t go better. There have been several men and women in the group who have, on occasion, suddenly seemed to wake up to the fact that maybe they felt more than just friendship. But despite knowing each other for eons, knowing every thought and feeling and PMS-induced moodswing, things would invariably go awry. When you’ve known someone for years and years, does that make it easier or more difficult to fall in love with them? I wonder if getting into a relationship when you’ve already seen the frog’s warts is a bad idea…those relationships where you keep discovering things about each other seem to work out better than the ones where you’ve seen each other in tattered boxers, or without make-up, or witnessed each others’ severe morning breath on overnight trips to Pune and Goa.
It’s been about a decade now, and all of us are in our mid-to-late 20s, scattered across the globe; some dating, some engaged, some blissfully single and some scarred by past relationships. Distance and jobs and different time zones make it difficult for us to talk everyday, but we’re all so secure in the knowledge that we love each other, it doesn’t matter. Boyfriends and girlfriends will come and go, but we’ve all stood the test of time, and bad hair days, and acne, and psychotic significant others. The days of wondering ‘what if’ about each other are over, because we’ve settled into our comfortable grooves…furniture, if you will…I’m the bean bag in front of the tv, N.M. is the sofa in the corner, D.S. is the recliner over there…etc. We’ve confidently declared that we’re all pooling in our money to buy a huge house so we can all move in together – something big enough to give each of us our own space, but small enough to keep us close together. And, of course, we’ll all be going into the same retirement home in our 80s, where we’ll terrorize the staff by having wheelchair races in the corridors.
Childish fantasy? Sure. Unrealistic? Maybe. Naïve? Definitely.
But it keeps us going. It’s our version of happily ever after.
