Sometimes I think I have no friends. I don’t mean to say this as a means of garnering pity but as a factual statement. Often I think I’m misunderstood and lonely. Sometimes I walk alone to and from class and it bothers me more than it should. I have words swimming inside my head that I would love to share if anyone gave me the time of day. I sometimes think I’m the only one like me in the world. I’m a teenager. I’m expected to not be taken seriously.
So I bide my time and remind myself of the people in my life. Yes, I have friends, people that I enjoy spending my time with, or people that I walk in the hallways to and from classes with. I engage in pleasant conversation, greetings, and mutual dislike over subjects. I know people that I invite over to watch movies and study with and other exceedingly mundane activities. So, by definition, I have friends.
But then I end up asking myself, are my friendships made out of necessity or mutual attraction? And by that I mean, am I just friends with people because we’re there at the same time and in the same place? Am I smiling at you because I like you or because we’re both in this situation right here, right now and suddenly it’s laughable? Would I still be friends with the same people if in a different time or setting? What is it that draws me to you, a perfect stranger?
Sometimes fanfiction answers this question best. Millions of fans worldwide ponder these so-called “What ifs?” and create their own musings about their various fandoms. Writers build alternate universes that parallel the one we’ve been given and no matter what universe, the one true pairing will always end up together. Things get even further complicated when you mess with the timeline. Would these people have met if certain specific events hadn’t happened to bring them together? And even if they had would their relationship have been as emotionally charged? Is it the tragedy that makes their relationship—regardless if received as platonic or romantic—so powerful?
Another Tumblr post suggested UA be used instead of AU for universe alterations where everything is the same except… as opposed to an alternate universe where the very ground rules of the universe established at the beginning are changed. I, personally, find myself agreeing.
Time travel makes these UAs more complicated. Barry Allen from The Flash is given the chance to prevent his mother’s death, but it comes at the cost of losing the life he cherishes now and the person he’s grown to be. Was it his mother’s death that forced Barry to become strong or was that just who he is, at his core? How will we ever know? How would we know unless Barry prevented his mother’s death, buying himself the perfect, sheltered childhood he never had? Would he still love Iris West or respect Joe West as much as he did in this version of the timeline? How many different versions of Barry are there? One that is the Flash, one whose mother was murdered as a child, one whose parents gave him away, one who loves Caitlin Snow instead of Iris, or someone else or one that actually becomes a villain, one that is insignificant in every way that means something, one who is just a shade of the person he used to be? Is there a version of Barry Allen who isn’t a hero? And would the world like to find out? Should the world find out? Cue Flashpoint.
Our dreams and experiences affect who we are. That we have known for the longest time. Some of us are just a product of our upbringing, while others are a constellation of random experiences. From every failure comes a learning experience, and we grow and learn from our mistakes and successes. Which forces you to wonder who were you originally and how did you change into you? You, today, with your ideologies. And how will these same experiences propel you forward down the road into your future ever-evolving self?
And who should come along with you for that ride? Who deserves to see that version of yourself? Certainly not the circumstantial friends who couldn’t give half a care about what happens to you. At least, once you lose the value, the “circumstance,” that tethers you to each other.
Certainly not the ones who only answered when they needed academic help, and certainly not the ones who told depressed people they deserved it. Certainly not the ones unable to carry a conversation longer than five minutes. Certainly not the ones that were rank gossips the minute a back was turned. Certainly not the ones that were too passive to air their dirty laundry in private. Certainly not the ones who used you, who looked down on you.
Only that’s hypothetical, I scramble to clarify, though it’s neither necessary nor true. But who’s to say? It all depends on the circumstances.
I feel like it’s important to date this piece as a remnant of my high school self. To myself, it certainly reads that way. It carries all the context of who I was at that moment when writing, even if that context can’t be translated properly across the page.
Fate…is a very weighty word to throw around before breakfast. —Maggie Stiefvater
I try not to dwell on the past; I was undeniably lonely in high school. And the benefit of retrospect is I’m able to have a keener perspective on my “circumstantial friends” then.
I can say this because I know exactly how many are still in my life to this day and how many relationships have dissipated. Circumstantial friends do not stick around for life.
There is this concept of “something more” as Maggie Stiefvater describes in her series The Raven Cycle that resonates with this. A “something more” is what tethers her main characters’ friend group. They’re all on a quest, spending almost every waking minute in search of clues. But they bond as friends too, despite their different backgrounds.
And they aren’t casual friends. Friends that you pass and say hello to in school? None of that here. Here she describes a friend group that is obsessed with each other. They aren’t interested in casual bonds.
They cling to these deep friendships in order to derive meaning out of their lives. And art, as always, imitates life.
In high school, I searched for that “something more.” I didn’t find it in my hometown, certainly not among the largely white, affluent kids I went to school with. And I didn’t find it in college either.
In some ways, I’m still searching for this something more, though that definition has evolved over time. I don’t know if I’ll ever find it.
But I still want it badly. I want the friends that would be extreme for me. I want the ones that would be able to reciprocate. I want everything, and even if that want will crush me, I want it.
What else is there to tether me to feeling alive?
