Who are you friends with?

Who are you friends with? With 20s came a lot of questions, a lot of curiosity, and a lot of crisis. But fortunately, I had a group of friends who helped me navigate through it. They all had different interests, so we didn’t sit together. Instead, I went to each of them individually, having one-on-one discussions, bringing my questions, and they did everything they could to answer me or at least point me in the right direction.

One of my first friends loved history. He could talk about it endlessly, weaving stories in a way that made even someone like me—who never cared much for history—fall in love with it. He spoke about how societies were formed, how humans evolved, and how the past shapes the present and the future. Just when I thought I had learned enough, he introduced me to another friend with a completely different way of looking at history—one who connected it to geography, culture, and unintended consequences. But beyond all the knowledge, what stayed with me was his secret to storytelling. When I asked him how he made history so engaging, he spoke about the power of deep thinking, meditation, and silence. That conversation marked the beginning of my own journey into journaling and self-reflection.

Then my curiosity shifted, and I started spending time with a different group of friends—people who had lived extraordinary lives. They spoke about struggle, discipline, resilience, and the sacrifices behind success. Some had fought their way out of pain, pushing their minds and bodies to extremes. Others had built things that changed the world, obsessing over perfection and never settling for less. Their stories were fascinating—some dark, some inspiring, but all teaching me that nothing great comes easy. And though their paths were different, they all had one thing in common: an unshakable belief in themselves, even when no one else did.

At one point, I became drawn to philosophy, so I made friends with those who questioned everything. Being around them wasn’t easy—they forced me to confront my own beliefs, to think deeply about control, meaning, and existence. Some had a grounded, practical approach, reminding me that the only thing I truly own is my response to life. Others were more abstract, making me see reality in ways I had never imagined. Not all of them were easy to be around—some were too pessimistic, making me question if anything mattered at all. But whenever things got too heavy, I had another escape.

I had two other friends who told me stories—ones that took me to places far beyond my own reality. One spoke of an epic journey across lands filled with magic, war, and destiny. The other told of a world hidden within our own, where three friends constantly found themselves in trouble yet always found a way through. Their stories were so captivating that I may have even developed a crush on one of the characters. But that’s a story for another time.

Then my curiosity turned inward—I wanted to understand myself better. So I started spending time with friends who had explored human nature in depth. Some made me realize that quiet introspection was a strength. Others talked about responsibility, structure, and discipline as the foundations of a meaningful life. There were also those who focused on breaking mental barriers, helping people push beyond their limits. And then there were the mentors—the ones who guided others toward finding their purpose, taking control of their lives, and mastering both the mind and the body.

As I grew, so did my interests. My focus shifted to financial wisdom, and I met another group of brilliant minds. They spoke about the nature of wealth, patience, and the power of compounding—not just in money, but in life itself. They taught me that success wasn’t just about numbers but about long-term thinking, discipline, and understanding value in all its forms.

Beyond these, I have friends who talk about architecture, movies, chess, and language. But right now, I’ve been keeping my distance from them. Lately, I’ve been focusing on health and spending time with someone who has mastered it. He constantly talks about how sugar is an addiction, how most of what we eat today is slowly harming us. I believe him, but I might need help from another friend—one who understands habits—because my brother has completely ruined me. Ever since my trip to the U.S., he’s been getting me addicted to sugary treats.

The best—or perhaps the worst—part about these friends? They don’t exist. But despite that, they have shaped me, guided me, and given me more than I could ever ask for. And for that, I will forever be in their debt.

Can you identify them?