There is only one kind of friend
Reflecting on the definition of a friend, and how far astray it has drifted in the age of today
Moving to Denmark permanently one year ago, I was forced to confront my own, possibly flawed, definition of friendship.
Where does an acquaintance end, and a friend begin?
Danes are commonly cited as the happiest people on Earth — a misnomer, actually, since “most content” is not exactly a close equivalent of “happiest”, but the latter makes a good news headline. Probably fits better typographically, too. One of the first impressions of arriving in Denmark three years ago, and then spending time shuttling between the country famous for Lego toys and Carlsberg brews, and Singapore, is that Danes aren’t as friendly as I expected them to be.
Don’t get me wrong. Danes are not unhelpful at all — I was once hopelessly lost in downtown Aarhus in my first week of Denmark, shuddering in the cold when trying to figure out where am I on a city map. Several offered help, including a lady who looks too rich to be approachable.
I simply find Danes very hard to connect to — despite my best efforts. They seem to huddle and have a really hyggeligt time together in their small exclusive social circles.
Then I realized I was not alone. People often talk about how clinical, cold and off-putting any Tom, Dick or Harry on the streets in Denmark look. In fact, to be considered a Dane you have to learn to put on an ice cold stare.
On second thought, I started to suspect if fundamental differences exist between a Dane’s definition of a friend, and my definition of a friend.
Everyone is a friend, no?
The part of the world I came from is known to be extremely friendly, hospitable, warm and welcoming, a fact that makes Southeast Asian countries one of the most popular vacation places among Europeans. Our collectivist cultural and social climate empowers us to embrace communities around us — for our self-worth, validation and appraisal is largely dependent on the approval of others.
I often look up to well-connected members in the society. They are the people with connections, people whose lift of a finger can move mountains and get the unimaginable and the impossible done. I yearn, dream, fantasize about being one of those extremely popular people. The sheer number, I thought, is the key to happiness and satisfaction.
Everyone is a different kind of friend.
Growing up in Southeast Asia, everyone is a friend to me — just of a myriad of kinds. We hold a very broad definition of friends, so much so that you can safely put it our definition of friends is, well, promiscuous. This is excaberated by the fact that Facebook loosely calls anyone you are remotely connected to socially as a friend.
You have the hi-bye friends, such as classmates in my university cohort who I, at most, share a passing smile and an occasional pleasantry.
Then you have the kind of friend who can almost, without fail, find you the best bargains in town, be it in electronics, cosmetics, counterfeit textbooks and the likes.
You have the party friends, who would ring you up every Friday and Saturday night, warmly inviting you to a party in one of the many dozen clubs in town — be it swanky, posh, crazy, quiet. You name it, Singapore has it.
There are also the friends who would only come to you when they need a favour. The ones who cheekily sends you an oddly warm and politely-worded email out of the blue that catches you by surprise — or not. When you see their names in your email, you just know they have a favour to ask.
You have the close friends, who you can chat through the night about love and relationship issues; who you would call whenever you felt lonely, bored, unfairly treated or miserable; whose shoulder you can lean on after you’ve had a bad day; whose sense of humour cracks you up.
There, I said it. We have a lot of different kind of social relationships with various people on various different levels of intimacy. We affectionately categorize them as simply, friends. From acquaintances to buddies for life, they are all my friends.
A friend is a friend — the only kind of friend.
In Denmark, or in many contemporary Scandinavian societies, there is only one kind of friend. By my personal definition, the Scandinavian definition of friend is somewhat an equivalent a close confidante/friend. Or, a true friend.
A friend in Denmark would be one that you can confidently rely on in times of need. Someone who would listen to your grouses and ramblings. Someone who would mourn for you after your death. Someone who would take a hit for you.
The strict definition of a friend also means Danes do not simply add anyone they are barely acquaintances with on Facebook, for example. They withhold judgment on people, but they also withhold warmth and affection until the time is right, and when the social ties between the two are solid.
My experience in Denmark has forced me to confront, contemplate and remould my definition of a friend. Over the course of two years I have finally made friends in Denmark. They are just as affectionate as the close friends I have at home. They are the ones who give me a hug when I needed one the most, without me asking for one. They write to me when I’m sad, check on me to know if I’m rolling along just okay.
In return, I invite them over for dinner. Small, cozy and comfy settings. I don’t need to throw a massive party of 50 to refresh, reaffirm or consolidate my friendships. Every single gesture, no matter how small, insignificant or minute, would suffice, as long as they are sincere.
In hindsight, Danes are not unfriendly. I simply felt so, admittedly with great unfounded prejudice, based on my definition of a friend that was moulded in a wholly different cultural and societal context.
Friends — the people who make us
It was a surreal experience returning to the sunny, crowded and futuristic island of Singapore after a 1.5-year hiatus. Catching up with friends J&B was a lot easier than I thought — J told me that our conversation picked up just as where we left off almost 2 years ago. We still talk about Little Britain. And we still adore and respect each other greatly. Conversations never went stale, be in on the couch in the living room or at the dining table.
Meeting with old pals from university was just as delightful. Our group has an interesting dynamics — 6 girls and 1 guy. They’ve always treated me like a little brother, just like how M gave me a big, squeezy, generous hug when I fearfully came out to my friends almost four years ago. They are the people who like me just the way I am. They are the ones who, although never thrusting themselves into the limelight, were the very ones rallying behind me throughout my university years. We laughed, talked and gossip over a hearty bowl of ramen and then good coffee. It felt like I have never left.
My short seven-day stay in Singapore not only allowed me to relive those long-forgotten moments I have experienced on the sunny island years ago, but also aided in moulding and redefining my definition of a friend.
There are the people who have, despite fading a little into the background, still holds true and dear to me. They are the people who made me who I am today.
Thank you.
