11. Day 11: about friendship
I wouldn't know how to define friendship. Just as I idealized love in my adolescence and youth, friendship strikes me as an imprecise, vague, ambiguous concept. From this perspective, I've never had true friends (except for Rut, whom I met and whose friendship grew stronger thanks to my mother's care).
I don't recognize any childhood friends, perhaps only the kids from my neighborhood I used to play with or, at the conservatory, with whom I used to learn music. In my teens, we formed a group of friends, but that friendship was contextual, circumstantial, and later, at university (though I call them brothers), it also stemmed from a specific moment and was easily recognizable as classmates.
My first disappointment with what's called friendship happened one day when some fellow members of the rondalla group invited me for a bike ride. Because I had adenoids, they started making fun of the way I spoke. I'll never forget it. But it wasn't the only time. As I entered my youth, other "friends" emerged. In the dance band, it was easy to connect with people who shared the same interests. Occasionally you form bonds, and time shows that you also form shared interests. Having my bike facilitated "friendship," but on more than one occasion, I felt ridiculed or assigned roles I've never played (including homosexuality). It's curious that this last one must seem like a trait to others, something they've often associated with me, whether jokingly or intending to mock me. It's also possible they associate it with the way I speak. Whatever the reason, the persistence ended up bothering me. Not wanting to go to prostitutes shouldn't be grounds for such a hasty judgment, nor do I think it has anything to do with your sexual preferences. And not because I'm homophobic, but because it doesn't align with my sexual orientation and is used as an "aggression" disguised as a joke. That's how I lost interest in people I thought were friends, both in Spain and in Brazil.It's very common for self-interest to masquerade as friendship, and the saying "better alone than in bad company" deserves to be prominently displayed. Perhaps that's why I have no better company than my solitude, to which I dedicated a song from the album "Back Home," composed on December 31st.
Occasionally you find a friend in a dog, a cat, a parrot, or even a rose. They all have in common that they expect nothing from you except what you choose to give them. There are many stories of animals and humans deeply moved after reuniting after years apart. Friendship isn't measured by a clock, nor does it depend on distance (even though the bolero says it's oblivion). Friendship can last half an hour or forever, but it must be true, authentic, and selfless.
Perhaps I've clung to a utopian definition of it; perhaps my independent, fleeting spirit won't let the seed grow. Or perhaps throughout my life, like on that Ferris wheel I mentioned, only substitutes for such a distinguished lady have ever ridden. I recall in *Le Roi Dance* the answer that Louis, the Sun King, gave to Lully: "I have no friends." I've heard it from others as well. Is it that friendship has no place in certain people? Was the French king afraid that the substitute would supplant the one and only genuine lady capable of filling our lives with happy moments? Friendship isn't measured by quantity but by quality; it comes, like expensive perfumes, in small bottles.
