I Don’t Have Friends — I Have Brothers and Sisters

The word friend sounds innocent enough today — a casual label we give to people we know, like, and share time with. But if we look deeper, the concept has roots far older, stranger, and more complex than our modern usage.

In ancient cultures, friendship was rarely casual. It often carried the weight of loyalty pacts, secret-keeping, and shared risk. Among tribal societies, warrior bands, and even mystery schools, the people you called your “friends” were the ones who had been tested alongside you — in battle, in rites of passage, or in sacred rituals.

In some ancient brotherhoods, friendship meant secrecy. You were bound not just by companionship but by mutual protection of hidden knowledge — sometimes spiritual truths, sometimes political plots. This wasn’t just about trust; it was about survival. Sharing in a group’s secret made you part of it. Betraying it could make you an enemy overnight.

This dynamic hasn’t entirely vanished. Even today, in certain circles, keeping someone’s confidence is the mark of a “real friend.” Yet secrecy has a shadow: it can easily be used as social control. Ancient alliances sometimes relied on the unspoken threat that breaking trust would bring shame, exile, or even death. In a way, blackmail and mutual leverage have always been embedded in the darker side of friendship.

Somewhere along the way, the sacred weight of friendship softened. The old initiations faded, replaced by lighter, more casual social bonds.
But the ancient instinct remains — we still want those around us to be trustworthy, to have our back, and to hold certain things in confidence.

The problem is that, in modern life, we rarely make the distinction between:

• Those who share our life’s battles (true brothers and sisters).

• Those who simply share our laughter and leisure (playmates).

Most friendships today are role-based connections. They exist in the space where our personas — our social masks — meet and interact. We play versions of ourselves designed to fit the moment: the work friend, the gym friend, the party friend.

There’s nothing wrong with this. These personas help us navigate life’s many stages and settings. But they also mean that many friendships thrive within the performance — and fade when the role changes.

This is why I say: I don’t have friends — I have brothers and sisters.

To me, brotherhood and sisterhood imply:

• Transparency, with no hidden agendas.

• Mutual commitment to each other’s growth and survival.

• The absence of manipulative “if you were my friend…” games.

They are bonds built not in the theater of life, but in its deep reality.
They are family by choice in ethics, not just companions by circumstance.

If the ancient world gave friendship depth and danger, the modern world gave it the opposite: casual, effortless access.
Click “Add Friend” and you’re in. Double-tap, leave a “like,” and you’ve shown support.

But:

• “Friend” is now a button, not a bond.

• We mistake visibility for closeness.

• Connection is reduced to a symbolic gesture.

In the digital realm, friendship has become performative. It exists on timelines, in comments, and in shared memes — but rarely in the kind of shared struggle that forged the brotherhoods of the past.

That’s why I see most friends as playmates — people we enjoy temporary realities with.
They can be incredible for:

• Laughing away stress.

• Exploring passions and hobbies.

• Reminding us that life can be light and joyful.

But they are not necessarily the ones who will stand beside us when the curtain falls. And that’s okay — as long as we understand the role they play.

If we could strip away the fuzziness of the word “friend,” we might begin to see our relationships more clearly:

• Brothers and sisters — bonded in truth, loyalty, and transparency.

• Playmates — companions in the theater of life.

• Acquaintances — those who pass through briefly.

By honoring these distinctions, we protect ourselves from misplaced expectations. We can enjoy friendships for their playfulness, value brotherhood for its depth, and stop using the same word for two entirely different human experiences.

In the end, maybe the ancients had it right:
You don’t “have” friends — you choose your allies.
And in a world of masks, secrets, and fleeting social media likes, those few who stand in the fire with you are worth more than a thousand “friends” online.