“Happy birthday to… you!” Chico and his staff finish singing. Now they’re clapping, all smiles.
I blow out the four candles on the brick-sized strawberry cheesecake in front of me, a staple at Chico’s restaurant that’s today doubling as my birthday surprise.
My partner gives me a hug. I look at him, at Chico, at the two staff members who’re probably wondering when they can stop clapping and get back to work.
I start crying. “Thank you,” I say to Chico. “I love it.”
My partner’s surprised. “I thought you didn’t enjoy celebrating birthdays?”
“I just… never expected anyone to make the effort for me.” I wipe my tears, take a bite of the cheesecake. Nothing has ever tasted sweeter.
A life without friends
For most of my life, “friend” was not in my dictionary.
My first seventeen years in Thailand, life was study: school, piano, ballet, repeat. Whatever time was left I spent devouring books or inventing elaborate plays for my well-loved toy dinosaurs to enact on the couch.
My social circle consisted almost entirely of family. I had friends in class, but those friendships ended at the gates. Hanging out with friends outside school wasn’t on the table—we lived far, driving me was a hassle, I wasn’t permitted to travel on my own.
But I didn’t mind. I was busy studying and reading and enjoying time with my parents and grandparents. Friends were for school, and that was that.
Then, at eighteen, I won a scholarship to study for the next six years in the UK and for the first time had the freedom to do whatever I wanted, with whoever I wanted.
My scholar peers were brilliant, kind people. Us living far from home created an instant bond. The situation was ripe for friendships to blossom, but—never having considered friends a necessary part of life—I stupidly spent all my time chasing romance.
With family halfway across the world, my social circle now consisted of boyfriends, one after another, sometimes overlapping. The ease with which I seduced—and dumped—the opposite sex became a point of pride, a knack I worked hard to perfect.
Briefly, at the start of university, I did play at friend-making. But I lacked the skills to succeed and ended up failing, miserably. For the entirety of my undergraduate degree, I dreaded Fridays for the calls and messages I knew would not come. It’s Friday! Do you want to hang out? Let’s grab a beer.
Socially starved, I doubled down on boyfriends and dedicated the rest of my time in university to a string of romantic relationships—some good, some bad. Which, in hindsight, did not help.
Through all these years, and no thanks to my efforts, I was blessed with the enduring friendship of a small group of scholars. They provided the safety net I did not see as I fell into one debilitating depression after another. They dragged me along on study sessions when I refused to prepare for exams. They took me in—cooked for me, would have cleaned me if I’d asked—when I lost the will to keep myself alive.
Without these handful of individuals—you know who you are—I might never have made it back to start my graduate life in Thailand.
I’m not worthy
But I did make it back and within a year became dangerously manic—my antics soon landing me in a locked psychiatric ward with a Bipolar Disorder Type I diagnosis, a lifetime of prescriptions, and an overdue occasion to conduct a thorough post-mortem on my younger self.
This internal investigation of values and beliefs, which would take up most of a year after my discharge, led me to a 180 on the subject of friends.
The year was 2015. I was 26. And I vowed to make friends my priority for the rest of my life.
Almost a decade later, thanks to sheer determination and plenty of trial and error, I can now proudly claim exceptional friend-making skills. Every company I worked at in the past nine years, every city I lived in, I’ve left with more friends than I began with. And not just friends—good friends who bring me joy, great people I care for deeply.
But here’s the thing: in my heart of hearts, I don’t believe any of it.
I don’t believe, mid Happy Birthday song, with my cake and the four candles in front of me, that Chico asked his staff to prepare the cake and candles, then came all the way to his restaurant to sing me one song. Because I don’t believe anyone who’s not my partner would care about me enough to want to make my birthday a special day.
I don’t believe my friend Adam messaged me the morning after I cried my way through the first draft of this newsletter to see if I was feeling better. I don’t believe my friends Ralf and Giang hand-carried delicate sprigs of lavender from Ralf’s mother’s garden in Germany back for me. I don’t believe my friend Miêu made me a papier mâché fox after I declared my ardent love for the Little Prince. I don’t believe my friend Kat thought to bring me snacks from Taiwan after one meeting. I don’t believe my friend PB drove to my house to pick me up for coffee when I was visiting my parents and isolated from my friends in Bangkok. I don’t believe my friend Pang showed up to our Bangkok coffee meet with the flossy pork bread I’d casually mentioned I was craving months earlier. I don’t believe my friend Jah spent hours chatting with me and looking up obscure Thai law to make sure I’m paying the right taxes. I don’t believe my friend Jess when, on a call, she emphatically told me: you are seen.
No matter what my friends do, without ever needing any prompt, without ever expecting any gratitude, I don’t believe any of it. Because despite ample evidence to the contrary, I continue to believe I am not worthy of friendship.
A decade and a half later, I am still the 21-year-old who could always seduce a boy, but never got invited out on Fridays. My perception of myself as “friendless” is so seared into my being, I don’t know what it’s going to take to change it.
This is a depressing realisation—I am in tears writing this—but it’s also, strangely, a blessing. For everything a friend does for me—big or small—is so unexpected my life is a never-ending string of delightful surprises…
All thanks to the incredible people I still can’t believe are my friends.
What do you think?
If you’re a friend, now would be a good time to give me a hug.
Do you feel worthy of friendship?
Are friends a cherished part of your life? Has it always been this way? Any suggestions on what I can do to finally feel worthy? Please hit “reply” or leave a comment—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. If you want, share this post with a friend you care for.
Until next Friday… Stay thoughtful,
Val
Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash
I was watching a talk by Trevor Noah and Simon Sinek where they were discussing friendships. And how it's important to know how to be a friend as well. I feel like I can be a good friend and have been longing for it. But moving to a new country and adulting is more difficult to create that deep connection. I guess luck plays a huge role.
I cant live without friendships. I value every friend that I have and I always said to myself I cant destroy a long term and close friendship. Till now I consider friendship as valuable as partner relationship and family relationship