I've written about friendship before. My insatiable gratitude for the longevity of my current friendships is unrivalled, without question. I knew that this type of bond was finite. A resource that had to be savoured. But then, I thought, could love be a renewable and plentiful source? Whilst travelling you open up a side of yourself that fuels itself on something other than common denominators and childhood sentiment. The links and groups that you share an emotional membership to at home will always be special, you didn't need any reason to be friends other than the fact you wanted to be. They thrive on pure want. Rare, beautiful, unconditional. Out here, the sensation is a little different. On the few occasions I shall refer to; you meet people in the morning and come evening you can't imagine not knowing them. It feels hazy and disorienting that just a few hours prior they were non existent and it doesn't sit well with you. My eternal appreciation for my 'home friends' will never fade and this post is neither a comparison nor competition, purely an example of how I widened my mind to forming new relationships which I didn't think possible. I'm lucky in that sense. I am leaving for home with minus money in the bank but somehow I find myself solved by other riches.
***
We have spoken about everything under the sun, literally. From the very first day we met there was no regular shoot-my-own-brains-out chit chat. When backpacking, you soon realise there is a repetitive framework in which people stick to in order to strike up a conversation. After moving monotonously through this somber samba for the hundredth time it became hard not to let out exasperation when asked the following;
Where are you from?
How long have you been travelling?
Where are you going next?
On the surface it seems like a defeatist attitude, but when you dance round these pleasantries numerous times per day with passing strangers you begin to associate it with a minor waste of time. The real conversations are the ones you remember. The embarrassing stories, the humiliating habits and the mostly immodest moments are what really bring you closer to people.
So, to paint a picture; staying in dorms means you have limited privacy. I began to wonder what it was like not to get dressed in a shower cubicle. Of course my clumsy disposition always meant I would, without fail, drop my pants on the wet (and often filthy) floor. Luckily, when we hit Vietnam and met ‘team', we instantly clicked. A huge benefit of travelling within a group is, as it turns out, you finally gain a little bargaining power for nonsense within your living quarter. My biggest thank you is directed at these gems for allowing a little nudity back into my life. In Hué we ran around naked in our dorm at 3am and it was the start of something really liberating, in my opinion. This led to increasing comfortability and heightened levels of calm. Out here, we don't have a place to call home. This seemed to matter very little. As we packed and unpacked our bags from one destination to the next, the location became irrelevant as you all essentially became home to me. You made me feel grounded, you made me feel safe. You gifted me with humour, you provided me with practicality. If that isn't family I don't know what is. If I had to travel to the other side of the world to find you all over again I'd be on the first flight, I promise. You all deserve to know what a shattering effect you all had on me. You smashed through the walls of restful discontent I had built for myself and allowed me to take in your words, actions and energies. During 14 weeks in Asia I made some life-altering friendships. You all taught me something, whether you know it or not, so here’s my message to you.
Jess…
You have seen every side of me. We’ve endured and enjoyed. You are so special and you don’t even realise it. If I could have that time with you all over again I would do it in a heartbeat, but the memories will have to do simply because I don’t believe it would be possible to recreate the time we shared. It was truly once in a lifetime. You taught me that it’s ok to voice your opinion, your emotion, because hiding it simply does no favours. I loved you before, but what I feel now is just, more. You have given me the best three months of my life, I’ll always be trying to repay you for that.
Sam and Dave…
You made sure I got up when the alarm went off, you made sure I didn’t miss the bus. Every single time. The month we spent together was one I couldn’t forget if I tried. You were patient through the strained conversations as I tried to wrap my head around well… men. You taught me the value of platonic relationships and for that I can only thank you, you cared for me and looked out for me as your friend and it’s a lesson that changed me. Please know how invaluable your words were.
Sophie and Robin…
You two were my first encounter devoid of niceties and ‘how do you do’s’. This sounds like a negative, but I mean only the opposite. There was an instant slip into comfortability and that was that. Perhaps our humour eased the need to babble meaningless bullshit because every conversation we had was real in my eyes. You two are all I aspire to gain from a partnership; friendship, trust, respect and a willingness to write each other into your futures.
Scottish Girls (and one Irish)…
You made me believe in fate. Had I not been hungover, in need of a meal, I would not have ventured to your hostel that morning. I wouldn’t have asked you to mind my things while I went to the bathroom only to find out we were meant to meet. You gave me perspective. You don’t always need radical surroundings to make new memories. When we swiftly ditched the organised hostel pub crawl in Saigon to crouch in a dingy canteen and drink buckets from a vendor who most definitely didn’t have a licence, I knew that I had made the right decision. Where atmosphere was lacking you gifted me fun and the same logic applied throughout all of our time together. When we took a boat trip in Cambodia, and attempted to choke down the fish we had caught just an hour earlier, we didn't give in to pangs of hunger. We poured another drink and leapt back in the ocean to share the sunset. I’ll never forget it.
Team (Jess, Maura, Nataly, Tom and Harry)…
The day we met was an appropriate beginning for the antics which were to come. ‘The Crazy House’ in Dalat, Vietnam, a trippy piece of architecture that bred mischief, was truly representative of our dynamic. That night over dinner, it occurred to us that we didn’t even know each others names. We gave alternative introductions; name and age, accompanied by our most embarrassing stories. That night we broke the ice so hard I fell, for each and every one of you. Please, never change.
Travelling is the most vulnerable, disgusting, beautiful and intimate thing you can share with another person. An orb of magnification into another persons mind and soul, their body and habits. Even those you only knew for a day or two and never speak to again, you remember the conversations you shared at 4am, the optimum time for heart to hearts. You open up instantly knowing there will be no dire social consequences for revealing your deepests and darkests.
I write directly to each and every one of you because the same overarching principle applies to you all. I hope you know that every time you told me something about yourself, personal or otherwise I was in awe, appreciative of your ability to let me in and talk about our downfalls, dreams and desires.
No comments
Post a Comment