Asymmetry
Saving the best of you….for?
There was a mail announcing the upcoming festive event in the organization with details and an enthusiastic invitation for everyone. Unable to contain my excitement, I messaged them first and asked if they’d like to come. They delayed the response, and I kept waiting. Ultimately, I went alone because I really wanted to explore and enjoy the festivities. I received a few calls from them about the event and their final admittance of not turning up in a circumventing manner. I didn’t mind because people shouldn’t be forced to attend events; they should genuinely want to come. Although, I would’ve appreciated a quicker response or, even better, their company.
Many more events and chances for hangouts came later, and I invited them again and again, only to be turned down politely, awkwardly, or cluelessly, most of the time. But surely, there were times they did turn up or, even better, invited me for things that I always agreed to attend in a flurry. Their invites often felt like a confirmation of our friendship and the time spent a lovely memory. I felt relieved that I was wanted, too. I felt acknowledged and remembered, and thinking twice or even thinking of not going seemed like an absurd idea to me. So, I always agreed, I always said “OK,” and I always went. Alas, it wasn’t always from their side.
A couple of years later, the same festive event happened. We had slightly parted ways and had different friend circles now but were still on amicable terms. After a while at the event, I saw them mildly grooving with their company and then saw them again the next day. I didn’t mind because why should I? Perhaps they would’ve found the reasons to attend the event, unlike multiple times before when I had invited them.
But I pondered their presence at this event and their absences at so many others before and went spiraling down, overthinking. My brain quickly picked up on our friendship’s gloomy aspects and denied considering any other possibilities. I thought about how easy it was for the “new friends” to bring them there and how hard it had always been for me. I thought about how wrong I was about our dynamics and how long it took me to understand them.
I thought about my inadequacies and then kept thinking.
A few years ago, a vacation was approaching fast, and I knew they would be available, too. We were in different cities, so we had to keep track of our holidays. I texted excitedly and declared that I would be free. I asked if a meetup would be possible. They declined politely, citing some reason or the other. After a few months, they asked me for a meetup. I wasn’t entirely available, but I accepted the offer in a second. I made adjustments and went, thinking it was already not easy to meet, so if I could find a way, then I should go.
I only ever said “No” when it was literally impossible to meet due to some unmanageable universal forces. Unfortunately, literal impossibilities never occurred to me, and I always found my way around them, adjusting and agreeing. They got accustomed to my agreements, and I continued wishing for more “yeses” from their side, only to be disappointingly refused most of the time.
Indeed, there were times when I was wanted and invited and made feel like I mattered. These random and rare moments of attention were enough for me to keep going. Until one day, I had to stop. Until one day, I got tired of the nagging feeling that I experienced during my countless agreements. Until one day, I realized that I would never be enough.
I had come across an advertisement on the internet, laced with multiple posts of pretty and creative gifting papers, colorful ribbons, and note cards. I swiped through them daily, with unbridled temptation, even though there wasn’t any celebratory event around. One fine day, I finally purchased them, imagining how I’d use them in a few days or months. Birthdays, anniversaries, or impromptu surprises, these sheets were ready to adorn anything I wanted.
My brain automatically categorized the printed sheets for different people, keeping my favorites for the best and closest of humans. Naturally, I saved my favorite prints for them. And sooner than I thought, an opportunity to use the prints presented itself. I carefully crafted a letter on the back of the leaf prints and wrapped the gift with a matching pattern and ribbon.
I surprised them by abruptly presenting the gift and the letter. Their eyes gleamed affectionately and they unfurled the ribbons and the wraps and the envelops. They immediately tried on my gifts and seemed delighted at the prospect of wearing them soon. Seeing their reaction, I felt elated and excited. As they marveled at the untimely gift, I decided to drop more such surprises whenever possible and with as much creativity as I could muster.
A few days later, they unexpectedly asked me to accompany them to a restaurant, which turned out to be one of my favorites. I was amazed and delighted. More unanticipated things I liked continued to happen: a walk down the road, under the full moon or the setting orangish-pinkish sun, savoring an Indian-spicy snack in the evening, or a delivery of my favorite ice cream in the afternoon. And then, one day, there was a large cardboard box covered in wrapping sheets, which I carefully and eagerly unboxed. It contained an adorable soft toy with a cap saying, “Hello.” I felt so buoyant that day that I carried the soft toy around for a very long time in my arms and my late twenties.
This felt different and out of place, and unusual. Unusual because getting attention in established friendships hadn’t always been so easy. It had always been an uphill trek surrounded by trees of overthinking and inadequacies. Although, with time, a calmness washed over me, and I stopped worrying about this person’s unusualness. I realized there will always be distinct ways people express themselves; there will always be an asymmetry.
But to avoid dear brain from spiraling, the solution was to be with people who try to bridge the asymmetries in their own extraordinary way. Those humans who didn’t always wait for you to walk across the bridge but stepped forward whenever you did or even lovingly and wonderfully and unexpectedly outdid you sometimes.
