The People Close to Us

Few habits are more dangerous than considering just anyone a close companion.

Those before whom you must keep yourself flawless are not your close ones. It is before distant acquaintances that people carefully conceal their flaws. Before those who are truly close, there is no need to hide imperfections—even seeing your faults, they will never judge you, never drift away from you. People hide their flaws only from those before whom they cannot reveal themselves authentically.

Those before whom you must conceal yourself, to whom you cannot confess your bizarre thoughts and strange habits, before whom you must present a composed version of yourself—they are not your own. I see no reason to consider someone close who is not truly yours. In this world, except for yourself, hardly anyone is genuinely your close companion. If you do find such a person, remember them for life, keep them closest to your heart, place their needs above your own.

A close person is one to whom you can say without hesitation: today I smoked an entire pack of cigarettes, while crossing the street I stared openly at that girl or boy, whose face makes my skin crawl, whose mere thought brings peace to my mind. You can tell a close person everything. You can pick up a close person's call and immediately get to the point. Considering the depth of relationship, you can even speak with affectionate abuse to a close person. Before a close person, you need not hide any mark on body or soul. With a close person, you can comfortably discuss your anger or jealousy. Someone from whom you must hide your failures or shame is certainly not a close person.

Those before whom you cannot be uncouth are distant, not close. Those before whom you cannot present yourself in disheveled condition are distant, not close. Those before whom you must think before speaking, near whom you must consciously consider how to sit or stand or walk—they are not close, they are distant. A close person knows how to accept me in my chaotic state. When the entire world turns away, the one who still draws me near—that person is truly close to me. When the ground shifts beneath my feet, when the sky crashes upon my head, the close person remains beside me as a place of ultimate trust.

Before a close person, you can show your face; you need not wear a mask. Before those who are close, you need not maintain pretense, need not keep yourself tidy, can set aside all imposed artificiality. Someone before whom you need not feel anxious about your paunch, baldness, messy hair, pimpled face, makeup-free appearance, old-torn-disheveled clothes—that person is close to you. Before a close person, you can scratch wherever you please on your body. Someone before whom you feel even slight hesitation in expressing yourself completely as you are—they are not a close person.

Before a close person, you can confess what terrible habits you still carefully nurture, how many lies you told your lover in the past week, what bizarre acts you perform when alone, what sins in this life have brought you pleasure. Someone with whom you cannot openly chat about sinful pleasures is certainly not a close person. One who only partakes in your virtue but not in your sins cannot be close to you.

Someone before whom you must constantly maintain your refinement, beauty, and civility; who can only accept my beautiful side, not the ugly; whose mind cannot digest my ugliness and frankness; whose acceptance of me depends on certain conditions—such a person is truly no one special to me. They may be an acquaintance, colleague, classmate, relative, or anyone else, but certainly not a close person. There is nothing about them to take seriously. Those who take just anyone seriously find that random people come into their lives to torment them for fun. Someone who is no one to me can still become dear; but someone who is not dear to me truly becomes no one to me at all.

If you were to die this very moment, you would not see who stands beside you afterwards or who does not. Because you cannot see, no one has any obligation to please you anymore. Who would be there beside your corpse then? Close your eyes and think: who would come running without any self-interest? Who would weep for you year after year? Who would consider themselves completely empty, incomplete, and helpless in your absence? No one has any duty to please the dead. Yet those who come running then fall into two categories. Most people come to please the deceased's close relatives or to observe social customs. Only a few come, overwhelmed by grief for the one who has departed; or if unable to come, they too become half-dead from the pain of separation. Think now: who might be in that second group? Except for them, is anyone else truly close to you?

When you fall into trouble, you will see that most of those you have long known as relatives, friends, loved ones, family members, soul connections, are actually no one to you. There is only acquaintance between you; no deeper bond was ever formed. You might get the money for your father's operation from someone who is nobody to you; the 'sudden poverty' of those you consider close will amaze even you. Know this: the person who thinks of your father's health, who helps you escape trouble—they are your close person; the rest are merely acquaintances and unnecessary to your life. If you ever have to go into hiding due to trouble, you will see that your closest relative will not even send you one meal, fearing what complications might arise from maintaining contact with you. Someone who does not care whether you are eating or starving during your time of crisis—what does it matter if they are your blood relation? Soul connections are far greater than blood relations. Blood relations need not be earned; soul connections must be earned. You cannot truly know a person by what they receive effortlessly at birth.

During my gravest crisis, those I considered close people almost unanimously declared that they hardly knew me and that someone like me deserved such trouble! Speaking negatively about me was the fashion then; badmouthing me without knowledge became a sure path to social climbing for many, and even those close to me happily joined that current. In this life, those I considered close for so long—during my crisis, I witnessed the indifference and cruelty of many of them. Those who cannot miss a golden opportunity to express jealousy-born cruelty—I do not call them human.

Hardly any of them answered my calls, fearing they might get into trouble if they spoke with me! Even those who did answer—speaking with them, I realized they were thoroughly enjoying watching me drown in trouble! Many of them, without knowing the actual facts, kept finding faults with me and poisoning my parents and others against me day after day. Though I have forgiven them, despite trying hard, I could not forget them. I have thrown them out of this heart for this lifetime. I have come to know their true faces. I have learned that living is a solitary journey. When trouble comes on that journey, those who become companions—we hardly know any of them, or if we do know them, we do not consider them close. Only necessity reveals who is truly close. Life cannot always be lived with trust and simplicity. I am eternally grateful for that terrible crisis! Even without finding a single one of my so-called close people beside me, taking only one or two well-wishers with me, fighting alone against the entire world and returning victorious with head held high—having done that, it is as difficult for me to be wounded as it is to mistakenly trust just anyone as close.