HOME. Fall 2020 | Page 27

days we share Days We Share Joseph Delamerced Share one fun fact about yourself! Are you kidding me? What you’re supposed to be reading is a piece about friendship. I had hoped that what I wrote was a way to connect with others. There are many books and articles on the topic from authors like Aristotle and C.S. Lewis, but the most important ones are those we have penned in our hearts with our close friends. Yet what does that word “friendship” mean, and what purpose does it hold? After much discussion with friends, coworkers, teachers, and mentors, I felt the need to write. I think that many people feel compelled to express their truths in the form most accessible to them, whether that be prose, paintings, or any other form of art. While I wrote, I felt that I was pushing a clear and logical form of what friendship meant—what it conceived of, who should be involved in it, how it should operate. The more I wrote, the more it seemed so clear, as if the complexity of friendship was unwinding before me. I found that God had much to say about the nature of friendship, and I began to incorporate verses from the Bible into the piece. I finished writing, and then none of it made sense anymore. I hit a wall. When I returned to the piece, I found myself at home. It was March, and I realized that the piece I originally prepared did not feel as applicable nor as helpful given the current pandemic. I must be honest even further: when I started writing, I did not think I was qualified to talk about friendship. That must sound contradictory, considering I’ve positioned myself as some kind of knowledgeable person on the topic and one who is eager to discuss it. It’s not exactly a good look for a writer who wants to expound about friendship to admit this. It would be even worse if I begin to tell you that I might be hypocritical, that I might be able to provide sound advice yet be unable to apply it to my life. And it would be outright bad if I said that all of that was true. I hope your image of me hasn’t become too tarnished, yet. When my sophomore year began, my best friend from high school and I stopped talking. Yet I still thought it wise to write all about what friendship meant, using complicated words and fascinating ideas. In February, I had finished writing the article. I called it, “Biblical Friendship,” and then I renamed it, “Is There A Good Way to Struggle?”, and then, exasperated, I renamed it “Untitled.” I read, reviewed, revised, and read it again. I didn’t like it. “This sucks,” I whispered aloud. In the basement of a library affectionately called the SciLi, I expected people at the desks near me to react and say, “Oh, dude, stop that, man. It’s good, for real.” But it’s a Sunday night, so everyone else has headphones or AirPods in and are busy studying for actual classes or accomplishing important tasks. I buried my face in my hands. “Who would even like this?” Certainly not me, and I wrote it. I wanted to call one of my friends and talk through the creative process, or maybe just complain that life has been hard as of late. A lot of my friends at Brown are, shockingly (this is sarcastic), involved in STEM, so I like to call people back from my hometown in Cincinnati when it comes to more creative projects. Now what was ahead of me was, truly, a mundane task. Not the writing—but the act of calling a friend. I needed to: (1) take out my phone, (2) unlock it, (3) open the Phone app, (4) scroll through my contacts, and (5) call someone. This was not a complicated process. I packed my things, got on the Brown shuttle back to my dorm, and put on my headphones. 27