When I was in the second grade, I learned an important lesson: how to win friends.
I had moved from Hong Kong to the United States just one year before.
Then after attending first grade in one school, my family moved to another part of town and I had to begin all over again at a different school.
So I found myself trying to break into established social circles while speaking a new language. I spent many lonely lunches by myself, chasing butterflies on the grass and biding my time until class started again. I honestly believed that if I could get a butterfly to sit on my hand, it would prove that I'm special in some way, and maybe my classmates would notice me too.
The butterflies never chose me. But it didn't matter. One day, I brought a pack of ramen noodles to school. But I didn't eat it in a bowl with warm water. Instead, I crushed up the noodles in the packaging, then opened the bag, took out the spice package, and shook the spices onto the bits of uncooked noodles. The result was a tasty, salty, crunchy treat, and soon I was a favorite among some of my classmates.
It didn't take me long to realize that as long as I brought ramen noodles to school, people paid attention to me at lunchtime. I knew that they weren't really my friends, but I didn't care. For five to ten minutes at lunch every day, I was not alone.
Funny how, many years later, memories like this suddenly come back to you. Second grade was nearly forty years ago. And this afternoon, as I was washing dishes, I realized that I still often think that my friends just want something from me. I don't expect people to truly want to be with me. Deep down, I still think that people like me only for what I can give them or do for them. I had learned this lesson as a little girl, but I had learned it too well.
Of course, I have friends who love me; they tell me so often. I just don't allow myself to believe it. And they aren't just Facebook "friends"–they bring me meals, check up on me, take my kids to the park so I can rest, and invite us over. But if I'm completely honest with myself, I still don't really believe that they love me just for being me. It shows in how I hold back sometimes–how I can't be open in conversations, or how I hesitate to ask for help. Forty years later, I have a lesson to unlearn. I myself need to work on being more than a "friend".
In this present culture of social media, commuting, texting, and fast-paced living, true friendship–having a deeper connection with a person and loving him/her for who he/she is, not what he/she can do for us–is slowly fading away. If you want to fight this trend in your life, I recommend this book: Made for People: Why We Drift into Loneliness and How to Fight for a Life of Friendship, by Justin Whitmel Earley.
