When friendship was a verb

By Zyra Lentija

“We used to wait by bridges and waiting sheds. We used to show up, even when it rained.”

Waiting was the friendship

I still remember waiting by the school’s main gate one sticky afternoon in the early 2000s, clutching a cold bottle of Milo, watching jeepneys pass by, and hoping my grade school best friend would finally show up. No cellphone (my mom didn’t let me have one until college). No message. Just faith. If she didn’t come, I waited anyway because waiting was part of being friends: a small act of trust, a quiet promise to be there. Back then, friendship took time. It was wonderfully inconvenient. You couldn’t cancel plans with a text or react with an emoji. You had to show up, and if you didn’t, you owed someone an explanation. There was effort, and in that effort, there was affection.

The quiet ache of being “connected”

Fast forward to today.

We have 5G, Wi-Fi, and a galaxy of messaging apps. We can “connect” with anyone, anywhere, anytime; yet somehow, we’ve never felt more alone. We scroll endlessly, message instantly, react automatically, and still feel unseen. Psychologists call it the friendship void, or the emptiness that persists despite constant social interaction. We are surrounded by familiar faces yet starving for familiarity.

A 2023 Pew Research Center study found that 8% of Americans say they have no close friends, while only 38% report having five or more, figures that reflect a growing sense of isolation even in a hyperconnected world.¹

We are connected, yes, but not always related. Today, we live faster than the heart can follow. We connect, but we don’t carry. We speak, but we don’t stay. Technology made us reachable, but not always available. We call it connection, but what we crave is communion.

Relation is more than a link

The word relation comes from the Latin referre, meaning “to carry back.”² To relate, then, is not merely to link, but to move toward someone; to carry something of yourself back to them. Connection is static; it’s a signal. Relation is dynamic; it’s a movement of the heart. That’s why you can be “connected” to thousands of people and still feel untouched. The difference lies in whether there’s movement, a mutual exchange, a living rhythm of care. Connection is a link; relation is a return.

When friendship meant showing up

If you grew up in the 80s, 90s, or early 2000s, you know how genuine friendships felt when they were offline. After school, you’d walk to a friend’s house, shout from the gate, or wait at the plaza. You’d share snacks, talk for hours, and laugh until someone’s parent yelled, “Umuwi na kayo!” No filters, no curated posts; just faces, stories, and laughter.

When you fought, you didn’t “unfriend” or “block” anyone; you sulked, then made up over fish balls or banana cue. Inconvenience made friendship real. Because showing up wasn’t easy, and that’s why it mattered. Friendship back then was slow, patient, and terribly, yet beautifully, inconvenient. It grew over handwritten notes, DVDs, and long walks home under a dim streetlight. Now, everything is instant. And when communication becomes easy, it loses its sacredness.

The Filipino soul of friendship

Filipino psychology has long understood what modern studies are only rediscovering.
Virgilio Enriquez, the father of Sikolohiyang Pilipino, described the Filipino self as kapwa: not “self” and “other,” but self-in-relation-to-the-other.³ In our language, to be human is to be may pakiramdam (attuned to others), nakikidamay (sharing in another’s suffering), and nakikisama (living harmoniously).

We are not individuals existing alone; we are identities shaped with and by others.
When we lose this rhythm of pakikipagkapwa, even in the age of Wi-Fi, we lose something sacred: our ability to be truly human.

What philosophy and science agree on

Personalist thinkers like Emmanuel Mounier and Karol Wojtyła (the future Pope John Paul II) believed that a person becomes fully himself only in relation to others. Wojtyła wrote: “The person finds himself through a sincere gift of self.”⁴ That gift is what true friendship is; it is not transaction, but presence.

And science quietly backs this up. The Harvard Study of Adult Development, which has tracked people for more than 80 years, found that close relationships—not wealth, not fame, not purchasing power—are the strongest predictors of happiness and health.⁵ As the study’s director, Robert Waldinger, puts it: “Loneliness kills. It’s as powerful as smoking or alcoholism.”⁶

Our friendships are not a luxury; they are our lifeline.

Consistency and availability

But what does it truly mean to “be there” for someone?

Consistency isn’t about constant communication. Availability isn’t about replying quickly. It’s about being present for the other person, especially when it matters most. Being there doesn’t always mean chatting every day or responding to every story. It’s the quiet kind of presence that doesn’t seek attention but provides it when it’s most needed. It’s checking in when everyone else has stopped asking. It’s showing up unexpectedly with food after someone’s breakup or a very long day. It’s remembering the date of their board exam or their parents’ passing, and sending a brief message, not because it’s convenient, but because you remembered. It’s keeping them company even if you’re tired.

Sometimes “being there” means sitting in silence beside a friend who has no words left. Sometimes it means walking with them to class even when you’re late too. Sometimes it means holding space for their anger or grief, without trying to fix it. That’s why consistency is more about dependability than frequency. You might not talk for days, but when life unravels, that person knows they can call you, and you’ll pick up. Availability, then, isn’t measured by how quickly you reply, but by how deeply you respond. It’s the kind of presence that doesn’t just fill time but offers shelter.

True friends are not the loudest in good times; they are the quiet ones who stay when the music fades. They don’t just send messages; they make time. They don’t just connect; they care to remain. Because friendship is not about being around all the time; it’s about being there when it counts. When your friend’s world falls apart, when they stop posting, when they say, “I’m fine” and you can tell they’re not; that’s when friendship shows its face.

How to return to relation

Maybe the way forward isn’t complicated. Invite someone for coffee instead of liking their latest post. Send a voice note instead of a heart emoji. Ask better questions, not “How are you?” but “What’s been on your mind lately?” Listen not to reply, but to stay, to want to stay and listen. The human heart is not built for isolation. It craves resonance: the echo of being felt. The heart has not kept pace with our devices. It still seeks depth over speed and understanding over visibility. And perhaps, in a world obsessed with connection, the most revolutionary act remaining is still the simplest: to look someone in the eye and mean it. Because once, friendship thrived on nothing but presence. And even now, that’s still enough.