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Eri Ikezawa (she/her/hers), Low Entropy Volunteer Writer

From the moment we are born, we enter an existence on a planet that survives and thrives through the cycle of life. Simply put, from ashes to ashes, from dust to dust, whether you are religious or not, this turn of phrase — in its rawest and plainest sense — applies to all living creatures. But this cycle is also relevant in a more abstract way as well. For instance, all relationships will experience a phase of denouement before the coda. 

I think many of us struggle with the notion that “all good things come to an end.” And maybe that turn of phrase is a little melodramatic in relation to friendships, but to some degree there is a nugget of truth there. There are so many ways we might detach from an old relationship that formerly used to serve a greater purpose in our lives. Whether it’s geographical distance, contentious quarreling or something as negligible as drifting apart, these are all examples of how a relationship can dissipate. And tragically, the closing curtain does occasionally involve someone passing away as well. 

But first, before we focus on the finale, let’s pivot to where it began — how everything started and came to fruition. 

Ever since I was young, I have always admired those affable personalities who could walk into a room and seemingly forge new friendships or connections within minutes. However, I personally have never been able to construct connections that rapidly. As I have gotten older, the envy has diminished significantly as I have grown more comfortable with who I am as a person. That is, it takes me time to feel that a true (and hopefully lasting) friendship has been born. 

So, as I have mentioned, my personal approach in building friendship really involves taking my time — but what does that mean? And what does it look like? Well, even from the onset when I first meet people, I tend to quietly stay in the background until I instinctively feel that I have a decent read on the kind of person they are. This makes it easier for me to then tailor conversational topics to their interests until I feel comfortable enough to offer insight into my personal life as well. 

I feel like a mother bird when I am trying to mold a friendship with someone whom I feel an inexplicable kinship with. After laying the egg — planting the seed in my mind that I can foresee an enduring relationship with a person — I spend months incubating and tending to it so it can flourish into the baby bird of friendship. Once I feel content in the durability of that fresh bond, we both set flight into our respective futures, together. 

Perhaps this perspective is manufactured through my own subjective experiences, but I personally can’t fathom the idea that we can truly know the ins and outs, the good and bad, and the best and worst of someone within a few short months. I think most people — even the best and kindest of them — tend to intrinsically be on their best behavior before they end up slipping up a little. To summarize, I think the excursion to a true friendship is a marathon, not a sprint — where cheetahs tire quickly, and painted dogs will triumph. 

But just as how the flower that bloomed in spring faces inevitable death in fall, some friendships are doomed for failure — like the guaranteed half-life of a given isotope. Mirroring the cycle of life, those friendships were sugary sweet on the tongue when born and the experiences accumulated throughout the best years of its life beautiful, rich and warm — but once the flavour runs dry like old bubblegum, it is okay to lay them to rest. I think it’s better to preserve the good memories of the past, rather than blindly hold onto something imbuing you with poison every time you touch it.  

To counter that, in my eyes, I also recognize that any relationship ebbs and flows. The question is not whether rainfall will occur, but when it shall arrive and knowing that, during some seasons, it will be more abundant than others. When the tide recedes unexpectedly, it leaves whales beached — frightened and literally out of their depths. Sometimes these vicissitudes occur so sluggishly that, by the time we notice it at a conscious level, it is hard to keep a level head and consider our subsequent options. 

When such transitions and transformations happen, I have grown to realize the best strategy for me in dealing with them is to weigh the pros and cons of that relationship. It certainly doesn’t bring me much joy to feel forced to quantify the “value” of people in my life — after all, I held affection towards those people at some point in time for a reason — but I also recognized that it is not beneficial to me to hold on for the sake of holding on. It’s like gripping onto the spine of a prickle bush knowing I’m bleeding, but becoming so acclimated to the pain that  I just ignore it. 

I suppose the greatest lesson in all of this for me was the moment it finally clicked for me — that just because a relationship reaches the quietus, it doesn’t mean that I failed. It doesn’t mean I am a failure — and it is not a reflection of who I am. I realized that I can’t prioritize NOT failing someone else and end up failing myself. There comes sobering peacefulness once you neutralize the chaos in your life, mute the noise and choose stillness. 

I finally realized that with every chapter that ends, another follows — and when you reach the final chapter, there are endless other book options. With every death follows a birth, with every birth follows a death. And for better or for worse,  from ashes to ashes, from dust to dust — the cycle of life. 

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My name is Eri Ikezawa and I have an extended minor in psychology and a major in linguistics. I’m still on the path to quelling questions about myself and the direction I want to head in, but in the meantime, I have always wanted to find a way to help others and contribute to a community dedicated to personal development and self-love.