You nailed it, Winnie

"If you are going to go through hell, keep going."

What on earth is this Breathe stuff anyway?

I felt some explanation was due for the entry before last.

It is the first in a series of short chapters following the fictional tale of somebody I made up and decided to call Dot, because he can't beat me up for it.

The story is a bit of an experiment in writing and occasional philosophy. I plan to put up Dot chapters from time to time. We'll see how it goes.

Comments, suggestions, tips, advice, and artfully crafted abuse are welcome.

Of Old Friends

Technorati Tags: prose,journal,friendship,friends,things written by bored writers

Let's talk about old friends.

Why, you ask. It's a Monday today, which may be seen as not the best day to talk about old friends (I'm not sure exactly why, but Monday never seems to feel like a good day to do anything, which makes the fact that it starts off the week rather unfortunate), but that's the thing about talking about old friends...it never feels like the appropriate time to actually do it. But, as I've begun to understand of late, it is very important to. Vital, as it turns out. ('It turns out' is a phrase that I use with thanks to Douglas Adams, for pointing out its nature as a great way of inventing fact without providing evidence, while simultaneously hinting at the existence of extensive personal research and authority, thus eliminating the need for justification. Yeah, all right, that was completely irrelevant to the entry and breaks the flow of the subject. But the man is so right! I just had to use it.)

So, enough about Mondays, let's go back to talking about old friends.

First of all, I'm not just talking about people. Friends come in many shapes and sizes; taking an example at random, one of mine comes in those of a short length of wood with a bit of graphite inside it and some small quantity of rubber stuck at one end. We used to get along splendidly well, and for considerable lengths of time could ignore the outside world and the folks in it entirely, deriving unimaginable fun instead from playing our imaginations across blank paper. Quite remarkable, now I think about it, how long its been since we've spent a careless afternoon together. And I was good at drawing.

But, with passing time and changing demands of the day, we can and in fact must leave these friends behind. As a very wise man once blogged- friends love you the way you are. So, if you want to change, even if for the better, or do something new and fresh in your life, friends aren't the people best suited to support you.

This may sound heartless and antisocial, but in fact it keeps me from making unreasonable demands on a friendship that is otherwise beautifully enjoyable.

I'm on my summer break, so meeting old friends is the flavour of the season. It's a great feeling to go back to something familiar; maybe look at it in a fresh light, rejoice in the differences as much as in the things that never, amazingly, seem to change.

While change is all very well, and when it comes to embracing the new cheese, I say 'tuck in' as loudly as the next man (or at least, don't glare at him reproachfully for it), I do also love the feeling of nostalgia, and of effortless enjoyment...the kind that is only possible in the company of those that you have carried with you as experience that makes the strands of your personality.

Because old friends are more than just people or objects... they are what you secretly hold within yourself, as your identity, and as your compass, when you go out to make new friends.

I'm beginning to feel here a need to explain myself for all this wishy-washy stuff about friendship and identity and nostalgia and so on, which I imagine could be viewed as rather unhealthy thinking in a young person like myself. The whole thing about the nature of old friends came to my mind recently, when my grandmom called to get her regular status update on my sanity. She pointed out to me that mathematics wasn't so bad after all (I never thought it was, but my grade in a recent examination was beginning to raise some questions about the same) and that I had, once upon a time, actually considered it as a full time subject of study, hadn't I? And I really used to enjoy it. But it seemed that I had forgotten my old friends in my hurry to make new ones. That I had picked up a fresh mistress and forgotten to write regularly to the old girlfriend. And naturally, old friends, if forgotten, tend to turn sour. Maybe I just need to spend some time remembering my old friends.

As always, she makes me smile foolishly to myself. She has such a deceptively gentle way of seeing right through me.

But I digress.

The importance of thinking about, and spending time with old friends, is that they let you retrace the path that leads to you becoming you. They remind you of sides of your personality that you can forget in the course of your daily life, things about yourself that you would suddenly remember how much you cherish. They remind you, in anecdote and in humour, of mistakes you made and recovered from, so that you may remember the lessons and not repeat your mistakes. They remind you of your triumphs that they shared with you, which in those frustrating times when the self-esteem struggles in vicious eddies of failure are the vital log that keep you afloat. And they may even occasionally buy you dinner, which is of course a truly incomparable moment of happiness.

Sometimes, old friends even remind you of other old friends...which is like getting a complementary dessert. For instance, I was recently reminded by one of mine (friends, not complementary desserts) of my love of art. She actually pointed out to me a talent that, in retrospect, I am astounded I forgot about, given how much pleasure it used to give me. I'm buying pencils again. (Thank you, by the way, if you're reading. I promise to share on this space anything worthy I subsequently come up with. I am rather grateful to you.)

Of course, there is the possibility of old friends leaving you. This, if you are lucky, is rare. Because the short end of the deal is wrenchingly unpleasant. The effects I don't need to discuss...most of you probably know how the loss of an old friend feels, and I sympathise with you for having experienced the horror of that feeling. It is slower than the horror of other kinds of loss, and reveals itself in treacherous layers. I shall say no more on this subject, for fear of relating another very long tale in an already long discourse, except to observe this: it is, then, even more a blessing when in such an unenviable situation you find other friends to share some of the weight with.

All in all, revisiting old friends is a good thing. At the very least, you remember how to laugh mindlessly and without meaning, how to effortlessly be yourself. I sometimes regret not going back to some of the friends I have left behind, because it necessarily means losing a part of my identity and history.

So now, in closing, as I'm sprawled out typing at this unearthly hour, having read a few Wodehouse stories, listening to Pastime with Good Company (Jethro Tull) and Money for Nothing (Dire Straits), no longer very certain of how much sense I'm talking, and generally without cares for the moment, I shall make myself a promise to always remember the rest of my old friends, at least the ones who really meant a lot somewhere along the way.

I heartily suggest you do the same.