writing friendship
There’s no rush, no rules. It’s the kind of conversation we’d bring up with both of us sitting cross-legged over the slope of the grass, upon gazing at the dimming lights of the harbour. It’s the kind of conversation that we’d bring up in the Mediterranean restaurant Terracotta at Lamma Island as the sky blushes a fiery scarlet from the dim red. It’s what Aanandita writes about in her welcome email — “it’s a mix of reflections, ramblings, and the kind of conversations you’d have with a friend who just gets you - over a cup of coffee, a glass of wine, a foil pouch of capri sun, whatever fuels your fire that day.”1
Ever since I began this blog out of a whim, my waking days have been filled with a nagging thought: What if it’s not Substack enough? My musings, written during bursts of inspiration — what if they aren’t substantial enough, as operationalized by length? This system of thought is subsumed by a contradiction: the gatekeeping of a space that has its function in opening up as a flourishing launchpad of thoughts, and thus, prevents the very function of which it was set up to do. It’s this idea of “not-enough” which, conversely, makes the friendship analogy so potent: when we bathe in the love, it softens the fear that causes us to grip.
My friends and I, we live our busy lives. We interact through short texts and the occasional dinner, and it seems that life has a way of stealing the slivers of our shared moments. Perhaps the introduction of a second space, with conversations flowing on paper like how they would upon utterance from our vocal cords, are essentially fulfilling the emotional response that we feel in each others presence. The enchanted attention that permeates our relationship is the choice of action; “of staying open, of refusing cynicism, of choosing vulnerability over detachment.”2 My inbox of drafts range from the impermanence of life, to creativity as dendritic branching to musings on a pre-law panel. They are not essays worthy of theses. Rather, they are things I would share in a deep conversation unfolding late into the night, “a new slick leaf unfurling like a fist to an open palm.”3
wow, thank you for including ramble in your piece. i love how you've blended vulnerability, creativity and friendship -- it's so relatable and heartfelt. your musings are a gift :-)
The question of being "Substack enough" is such a paradox—But maybe that’s just the nature of creation. The push and pull between wanting to write for the sake of writing and the quiet voice that asks, is this enough? Maybe the answer isn’t in the length or the structure, but in the way it makes someone pause, tilt their head, and feel something they didn’t expect to. The very act of capturing these fleeting thoughts—these branches of connection, winding and twisting in directions unforeseen—is what makes them meaningful.