By
Caro
Cooper
I am not good at making friends.
I’m even worse at keeping them.
I’ve learnt the hard way that to live
witha friend is to losea friend.
An old, establishedpal can be fine.
Yo u k n o w, the ones that are like
family – they laugh at your farts
and you’re comfortable navigating
each other’s moods. But living with
newfriends? Honeymoon-phase
friends? Bad idea. Very bad idea.
One of my big friend break-ups
came from ignoring my own rule
of not living with new mates, and,
just like the time Iignored my
rule about not eating seafood in
developing nations,it was dramatic
and painful. My new friend was
great – the life of the party; an
awesome dancer; a real babe. We
had fun. The planets appeared to
align when I needed a home and her
flatmate decided to move out. The
planets were testing me. I failed.
Like any new relationship, things
were great at the start. We’d dance
intheliving room; watch movies;
make ice-creamcakesand dance
some more. Then, it all fell apart.
I’m good at sayingno. It took
time and effort, but I learnt how
to do it because I’d rather have
oneawkward conversation than
commit to something I’ll likely
resent. This makes my life better,
butit doesn’twin me friends.
I’m sure there’sa word for that–
it’s probably ‘jerk’. Let’s go with
jerk. If I were a man, it would
be‘assertive’and ‘self-aware’.
My ability to say ‘no’ was the start
of my undoing and our break-
up. I said no when she asked me
to lookafter her cat for three
months. I’m allergic, anxious and
irresponsible, three solid reasons
not to trust me with a beloved pet.
Things became awkward at home.
Boyfriends are a classic way to test
a friendship, so I threw one into
the mix. The thread of tension that
had wound its way through our
flat and our friendship over the
past few months grew tauter and
tauter. It finally snapped when
I told my friend I was moving
out to live with my boyfriend.Our friendshipcrashed and
burned. There was no yelling or
fighting, just cold silence; the end
of invitations and the beginning of
avoidance. I’ve had alot of friend
break-ups like this. They feel like
movie scenes, where a character
wakes tofind their lover gone and
just a letter on the bench. Except
withfriends, there’s no letter or
explanation. Youjust walk out to
find they’ve left, or vice versa. I
didn’t sleep with anyone’s partner
or maimtheir pets; I wasjust
myself, which turned out to be the
problem. I probably failed to read
her emotionsand needsand went
along doing my thing. I moved
out and we didn’t speak again.
Wecertainly didn’t dance again.There’s always the questionina
break-up about who gets to keep
the circle of friends. A break-up
can poison and threaten a group.
Rumours, bitching, exclusion –
they’re all ways to preserveit.
Inmy experience, people don’tlike
having to navigate the tensions
around rivalries, and as much as
they may try to keep both friends in
the circle, the weak limb eventually
withers and dies. Lucky for
everyone, I’m always happy to be
that leprous limb that drops away.Idon’tmean to sound cavalier
and brave. I’m not. Like any non-
psychopathic person, I still find
break-ups just as traumatic as I did
back in the kindergarten playground
when my best friend ran off with
the new girl, leaving me to eat my
tear-soaked, crustless sandwich
alone in the cushion corner. The
difference is that now, I eat my
crusts and I’ve learnt to enjoy my
own company. I love my friends, but
I’m just as happy eating ice-cream
cakes and dancing by myself. Often
simultaneously. Plus, I’d never askmyself to look afteracat.Iknowme
better thanthat.By
Daniel
Moore
Good friends are important.
They’re the people we laugh with;
thepeople whopickusupwhen
we’re down; the ones who will do
anythingfor us, and in return we’ll
do anythingfor. Yep,friendship is
special... but it’s not alwaysfair.While writing thispiece, I got to
thinking about what friendship
was likeas akid. And I realised
that while, for the most part, those
bonds were honest and pure, there
was the occasional hidden agenda.When I was a littl’un, for example,
the house I livedinhad an in-
ground swimming pool, which
meant I had A LOT of friends
between Novemberand March.
I was particularly popular on
weekends and during heatwaves.
So you see, having chums can be
rewarding as a kid, butit can
also be based on manipulation.Around the corner from my house
lived a boy named Matthew. I liked
Matthew. I would go to his house
and we would listen to musicand
muck around in his backyard. I went
to my first-ever concert – INXS –
with Matthewand his dad. He was
kind and fun. But looking back,
something about our friendship
makes me feela bit bad. I used to
come up with games that involved
Matthew maybe, perhaps doing
things for my own amusement.I once managed to convince him
that I came from a family of boxing
athletes, and that, with my inside
knowledge, I could easily train
him up to be a world-class boxer.
Without any real interrogation,
he agreed. So, each afternoon after
school, I would ride around to his
house, pick him up and make himwriters’ piece