Friends

My best friend was the most important person during my college years. I used to share all my problems with her, and it helped me in many ways.

Firstly, talking to her allowed me to hear my own thoughts out loud. Secondly, I realized how much I tended to complain about everything, feeling like the whole world was against me.

Overall, I enjoyed talking to my best friend; instead of burning inside in hell better to talk to a trustworthy friend.

In contrast, my sister had many friends in school. One day, I asked her, “What does friendship mean to you?” She surprised me by saying, “Friends are just for passing time.”

At first, I laughed, but later I kept thinking about it. When I was in school, I was a quiet child with little to say. I mostly asked my classmates for notes, as I was not good at studies, and often borrowed stationery and books without much to offer in return. Over time, my classmates found me intolerable, and I longed for the year to end so I could have a new sitting partner. This pattern repeated year after year.

In 9th grade, my grandmother changed my school and arranged for two girls to be my friends. They would pick me up from home every day. Initially, I enjoyed their company—walking quietly to school, eating lunch together, and returning home. It was fun for me, but I still had nothing to say. I wondered if I should create something to discuss, but that wasn’t my nature. I found their usual discussions uninteresting and listened passively. They found me weird.

Often, they teamed up against me whenever I had a difference of opinion with either of them, making me feel guilty for my straightforward nature. I started feeling something was wrong with me. In 11th grade, they chose science while I chose commerce, and I was happy to be rid of them.

In college, I intentionally preferred having one quiet friend at a time. But later in life, I became vulnerable, overwhelmed by numerous problems, and didn’t know how to handle them. I started sharing my problems with one trustworthy friend, a practice that continued for many years. One day, I realized that I was mostly repeating myself, discussing the same issues over and over. I found talking comforting and sitting in silence difficult. I became restless, feeling the need to talk more. It felt like hell. How did a quiet child turn into a restless person? One extreme to another.

After a long process, I realized that sharing problems didn’t bring solutions; it worsened my inner state. This realization was a turning point.

I started practicing meditation, and after some years, I found that the same process of talking could be done internally. By staying with my restlessness and inner discomfort, my mind naturally found peace over time. It was a great experience.

Restless company may be enjoyable and a good time-pass, but it was no longer my need. Now, after 12 years of meditation practice, I enjoy the company of people who appreciate my silence and happiness in simple ways. We do small things together, enjoy quiet meals, have relaxed conversations about work, and share simple jokes.