Growing up and Growing apart

Some friendships bloom like wildflowers, quietly, without asking permission. And some unravel the same way.

It’s a familiar kind of ache - to bump into someone you know, but no longer know. 

You know details that bear no expiration date - their 5th grade embarrassments, hatred for crowded rooms, their coffee order and their obscure fear of holes. But the leaves fall, change colour, and suddenly you no longer know how they spend their afternoons, what their current favourite song is or who they text goodnight. 

You now cross paths at crowded parties, exchange superficial smiles, and discuss the weather; feeling the weight of a shared history. Familiar faces in unfamiliar spaces. Suddenly you catch yourself, succumbing to the perils of small talk “What’s new with you?” you say, knowing full well that everything is, and you’re no longer part of any of it.

But beneath the surface you still hold stories - 3am conversations, cards in your memory box and hopes and dreams, now left unfulfilled.       

It’s a soft, whispered kind of pain. The kind that never demands attention, but never truly leaves.

I once read that friendships fall into three kinds: A reason. A season. A lifetime. I never liked how concrete and final that sounded. Because even seasonal friends can leave a lasting impact. Even temporary love can feel like forever while it lasts.

But it’s a harsh reality to confront, isn’t it? Not everyone is meant to stay. Some people arrive for a short while, to serve a purpose only the universe understands. Maybe they give you the courage to speak your truth. Maybe they hold your hand when no one else does. Maybe they break your heart just enough to teach you the lesson you needed to learn. 

And so, I’m left to ponder 

On life 

On people 

On friendship 

Because I’ve come to see friendships as mirrors. They show us who we are, and oftentimes who we are becoming. The people we draw into our lives often hold up parts of ourselves we haven’t yet learned to name. 

Who we let in, and who lets us in, reveals what we value, what we tolerate, what we long for. And as we grow, so does the reflection. The girl who once needed to be liked now values peace. The one who once whispered to avoid conflict now knows how to say no. 

And so, mirror shifts - and with it, so do the people standing beside us. Priorities change, perspectives shift, different versions of ourselves introduce themselves. 

And gradually we’re left with space. Space that was once filled with a shoulder to cry on, a late night phone call, a faded memory. 

But maybe the space isn’t empty. 

Maybe it’s - 

Space to think.

Space to reflect.

Space to grow.

And eventually, space to fill. 

Because it turns out knowing someone deeply, doesn’t guarantee you know who they’ll become. 

And maybe that’s the way it should be.

Maybe we’re supposed to grow in different directions, accompanying each other on the way. Only walking side by side for the stretch that we needed each other.

So when connections fade - I’ve learnt not to panic. It comforts me to know that even though it doesn’t make sense right now.  Or in the next chapter. Or in the one after that. It will make sense soon enough. 

To a wiser, softer, more mature version of myself - it will all make sense. 

Because we are not accidents in each other’s stories. We arrive with meaning, even if we exit without explanation.

Still, it’s important to look back. 

To honour the seasons that brought us here. 

To stop reducing experiences to just bad friendships, broken relationships, or wrong turns.

As Albert Camus said “There is no love in life without despair in life”. Love and despair are not opposite, they are companions. They exist in the same whole, just like pain and joy, kindness and cruelty and growing up and growing apart. 

We all exist to leave a mark on the world. Somewhere. On someone. To make an imprint. 

So yes, reasonal friends, and seasonal friends—they matter.

They are friends to feel grateful for,

Friends to look fondly upon,

Because we forget: We are not meant to understand everything. We are meant to feel. To experience. To learn. And to grow—Up, or apart.

By Sarah Makani