Memories of friends

I found a piece of silver tinsel at the bottom of the stairs in our building block. It was such a pretty thing, and I just knew it would make my day special. I brought it to nursery, and my friends - some of whom I can still remember until this day - and I played wedding with it. The silver tinsel was the centrepiece. We even rearranged all the chairs to make a carriage for the bride and groom, which we stood on or around, feeling celebratory. It was one of my happiest days at nursery.

My saddest day in friendship was when my best friend in high school left for Holland. Up until then, we had been inseparable. We were sobbing from the moment I arrived at her house for the farewell dinner until our last goodbye at the airport. I don’t remember who else was there, except for the obvious people - her mum, who explained to her relatives that we were closer than siblings, and my then-boyfriend - nine years older - who was kind enough to take me to the airport on his bike (I had terrible car sickness). On the way back, he wondered aloud, with well-meaning concern, how I would possibly cope with the inevitable losses life would bring if this one had broken me down so completely.

It wasn’t until much later that I realised how ashamed I must have felt - how quickly, yet superficially, I got over my grief - and how traumatising that had been, as a result. 

In secondary school, I was extremely close to three other girls. They were my world, and we did as many things together as we possibly could. Once, we found a ball and played football on the top-floor terrace of TM’s house. We kicked and defended with all our might, and laughed until we were exhausted. It was the only time I ever played football - and the most fun I’ve ever had with a group of friends.

TM and I, out of the four of us, had a special bond. We shared a taste in music, to say the least, and I still remember her home phone number to this day. I could talk to her for hours on end. One autumn day, we broke away from the group in secret and rode bicycles around the city. At the turn onto Bà Triệu street, near where my dad’s old office was, the road was covered in dried leaves. Hearing them crackle under our wheels, we gushed to each other about how delightful it was. Autumn leaves - and the sound of them rustling - always remind me of that day, and of TM.

Photo: notebook page, 2021