So what do you do when you meet a childhood friend whom you have not met for the last 30 years? Would you embrace and hug each other like a couple of Arabs, or do you just nod and smile, unsure of what to say or do?

As a matter of fact, the effect would be worse if you did not expect to meet each other. In my case however, it was kind of expected, since I was attending the 40th wedding anniversary of my father's best friend, and I knew for a fact that I would be meeting his son there, who is my long lost childhood friend. Frankly I thought of trying to skip that event, mumbling something about having to attend a Futsal Match. But my father wouldn't hear head or tail of it, so there I was. And expected as it was, it caught us unprepared nevertheless.

Small talk?

If nothing else, the first feeling that would strike you is one of awkwardness. After all, the vivid memories playing in our minds are still recollections of us as eight year olds, cycling and flying kites and marbles in Teluk Anson. During rainy days, we'd watch Broker Corp Machine Blaster or Ultraman on black & white television. Or read comics like Bujal and Bambino and tabloids like Utusan Pelajar. One weekend I'd stay in his house, the next he would stay in mine. We were more than friends; we were like brothers.

So, nothing could prepare us facing each other; 30 long years later. My parents moved to Ipoh, and his to Rawang. We went to separate boarding schools and attended different universities. Now we are both 38 years old, and I felt a gap; I think we both strongly feel that there's something missing between us. Perhaps it is the innocence of youth, or the openness towards each other. Perhaps, somewhere along the line, we changed and became 'like people'. We metamorphosised into what we then referred to as 'those grown ups'. Plus all the ego, selfishness, complications, complex and whatever values that comes
attached with being an adult.

Perhaps it's something we all grow up into. During childhood and school days, it used to be just 'me' versus 'you'. Nowdays, you and me invariably means ourselves, our respective jobs, our respective wives, kids and whatever it is that needs our attention. We are wary of time and money. What used to be a simple and almost natural occasion, like having teh tarik with friends, becomes a rare commodity. And before we know it, we drift further and further apart. Until the other falls sick. Sometimes it's death that brings us back together.

Think of all our friends. Some of us remain missing forever. No amount of persuasion can make them attend Reunion Dinners. Some simply do so out of shyness, some simply not being able to overcome the anxiety of meeting people from the past. Anxious of what has been lost, or what has befallen. Or what would become.

Hence I couldn't help but marvel at the function which I attended. For there was not one, but two showcases: one was my father's best friend officially celebrating his 40th wedding anniversary; the other was my father and his best friend unofficially celebrating their even longer friendship. I saw tears flowing freely as both of them reminisced about their younger days, their faces glowing and radiating from the sheer warmth of their friendship.

Kampung boys

For a fleeting moment, I saw both of them not as my father and an uncle, but as two young kampung boys running around a padi field. Then everybody took turns with the microphone, relating past events. It was more than just memories; for I could almost feel the pulse of their generation. It was like being able to travel back in time, and watching my father's childhood days.

It made me reflect, and think what life is all about. For a moment, I felt as if I could understand their generation, and what they stood for. And of course, their hopes for the future generation. The same way that we hold high hopes and aspirations towards the future generation which is our own children.

Later in that day, I went to my children's room to bid them goodnight. My ten year old daughter related to me some stories about her friends in school. I listened attentively, nodding and saying the oohhs and aahhs wherever necessary. At that time I felt like telling her all the things that I was thinking - all my hopes and aspirations - but then it dawned on me that it would be too much for her young mind to grasp. Maybe one day I would tell it to her, or maybe one day, like me, she would understand. So when she finally finished, I just asked her: "How many friends do you have?" To which she hastily replied: "A lot of ordinary friends, but I have one best friend"

"You must have more, dear, you must have more" I smiled at her, and as I kissed her and her three other siblings good night, I felt hot tears swell in the corner of my eyes.

ZAIM AL-AMIN works for a think tank. He has two blogs: http://zaimhq.blog-city.com and http://zacknina.blogspot.com.