in Views, writing

words working

It’s a Tuesday morning over coffee and a kindle. I think I’ve reached the regular. Chatting with a friend in Vietnam, considering my day. I will go walk and take time to gloss over the news. Now though it’s a morning. Sometimes Cambodia seems to take a breath. Like sit still and watch quietly. Coffee shop seems pensive or provoked into slow memories.

My friend on WhatsApp goes on. I admit to tuning out. There’s always a story waiting to be told and he seems to be on the cusp of it. It makes me wonder about the whole friend thing. Like how does someone earn that label in our lives? Do we just each wake up one day and remark,

oh him. He’s my friend

Do we share so much or so little? Are we so alike or different? I feel hard pressed sometimes to use that word with people that cross my path. For years I found, met, and lost people. Were they friends?

The person in Vietnam always relates to me with the name. But what is it really? It seems just a thing when we move past some other relationship thing. We are acquaintances or pals or buddies. Do we both agree to these powerful bonding words? Or they are just trotted out when we reach a milestone of time, feelings shared, sharing changes. I don’t know with him.

His wife though is different. She is Vietnamese and powerful, strong, resilient. My mom. She calls me at a moments notice to only say she loves me. That they miss me. Want me back.

And on it goes. Friendships and other people and I don’t understand any of it. Or perhaps want to. I’m not good relationship or friendship material. I am narcissistic and egotistic and selfish. Those are my good qualities.

Yet people come along and see something else and want some of me. Why? I don’t encourage them. I go as I please both in life and in matters of heart, mind and soul.

So I wonder and blog about it because the blog is the place where words wander. Where feelings talk. Where my life unravels just a bit to a morning in a coffee shop in Phnom Penh.