29 Questions and Answers about Friendship

I feel incredibly lucky to be alive right now. As a human, I carry emotions—some warm and joyful, others sharp and difficult. I’ve formed many friendships along the way. Some delight me. Others have left me awake at night, stuck thinking about what I’m really afraid of.

But now we have AI. And in my late-night reflections, I started thinking: what if we could organize all this confusion, all this wondering, into something useful? So I worked with AI to create something simple: a list of 29 questions and answers about friendship.

1. What is friendship?
At first glance, friendship seems like a feeling—enjoying someone’s company, feeling relaxed and happy. But on a deeper level, friendship is a relationship, and a very particular kind: one without blood ties, contracts, or obligations, yet marked by genuine care.

At its core, friendship may be an invisible form of recognition. When we say, “We are friends,” it often means, “I recognize something in you that resonates with me.” This recognition may arise from shared experiences, values, or an indescribable feeling—like a wordless soul-touch.

2. Why do we feel an instant connection with some people, but none with others?
We are not machines. Human connection is never just a matter of logic. That “feeling” often arises from an existential resonance—a look, a tone, or a phrase that strikes a deep chord already within you.

Like two instruments tuned to the same frequency, some people naturally create harmony when they meet. Aristotle might say it’s due to moral similarity; modern psychology might call it a familiar sense of safety.

3. Is the starting point of friendship often simply a desire not to be alone?
Yes—and that’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a fundamental human need.

From existentialism to neuroscience, it’s clear: we are wired for connection. Friendship often begins not from some noble ideal, but from the simple, honest feeling of “I don’t want to be alone.”

4. Then what is loneliness? Why do we still feel lonely even when surrounded by people?
Loneliness isn’t just the absence of people—it’s the absence of being understood.

Heidegger wrote that “human beings are beings-toward-death,” meaning we are inherently isolated in our subjectivity. No one can fully enter our inner world. So even in a crowd, if no one truly sees or hears us, we can feel utterly alone.

Loneliness isn’t “no one hears me,” but “no one hears what I’m really saying.”

5. Who was Martin Buber, and what does he have to do with friendship?
Buber was a 20th-century Austrian-Jewish philosopher best known for his book I and Thou. While he didn’t write explicitly about friendship, his philosophy centers around genuine encounters, which are deeply relevant to how we experience and understand friendship.

6. What’s the difference between “I–Thou” and “I–It”?
“I–Thou” is a state of pure presence and openness. In it, you don’t reduce the other to a role or function—you simply stand with them, as they are.

“I–It,” by contrast, treats the other as a means: someone who entertains you, helps you, or fills a role. Most of our relationships oscillate between these two modes, but true moments of friendship happen in the “I–Thou.”

7. So if we’re just playing video games or chatting over drinks, is that “I–Thou”?
Not necessarily. That might be “I–It”—using each other as sources of comfort or distraction. Only when we drop the roles, become fully present, and truly see each other, does it become an “I–Thou” moment.

8. Can friends always stay in the “I–Thou” relationship?
No. Buber himself said that “I–Thou” is always temporary. Daily life inevitably pulls us back into “I–It” interactions. What matters is not staying in “I–Thou” forever, but that we have entered it, and that we’re open to entering it again.

Friendship, in this sense, is not a fixed state, but a rhythm of presence.

9. Buber said the “I–Thou” relationship is fleeting and turns into “I–It”—does that mean all friendship is doomed to disappear?
In a way, yes. According to Buber, “I–Thou” is never permanent—because we’re human, and human life is full of distractions, needs, and survival routines.

We can’t remain perpetually open, vulnerable, and present. So even deep friendships will at times fall back into “I–It” interactions: functional, distracted, even mechanical.

But that’s not failure—it’s rhythm.
Buber reminds us: You can’t manufacture a “Thou.” You can only welcome it when it arrives. The value lies not in duration, but in depth.

10. If friendship always fades—just a few brief moments—why do we care so much?
Because those moments are real.

Existentialist and phenomenological philosophers like Buber, Heidegger, and Merleau-Ponty would argue: value doesn’t come from how long something lasts, but from how deeply it touches your being.

A single moment of being truly seen, truly accompanied, can stay with you for decades.
It’s not about permanence—it’s about presence.

11. If I care deeply for someone but they don’t seem to care about me, is that still friendship?
It depends on how you define a friend. Psychologically, this might be a one-sided emotional projection, or perhaps an intentional way you choose to love.

Philosopher Martin Buber would say that a true friendship must be a “I–Thou” relationship—a meeting of two whole beings. But this kind of presence is fleeting and depends on mutual response. If the other person no longer responds, the relationship shifts into “I–It.” That doesn’t mean your care was invalid—it simply means the relational structure has changed.

12. Does friendship have to be reciprocal? Do we need to feel equally about each other?
No friendship is perfectly reciprocal. Human relationships are not transactions.

True friendship is more like a dance—sometimes you step forward, sometimes you pull back. But if one person is always giving and the other always taking, the relationship may become unhealthy—not because of unfairness, but because of the lack of genuine response. And response is the core of any real connection.

13. Why is it that I care about someone, and they care about me, yet we still “miss” each other?
You give love, and they give it back, but somehow, you’re always slightly out of sync—like two parallel lines that never intersect.

Often, the problem isn’t lack of affection, but differences in how we give and receive. Psychologist Gary Chapman’s “Five Love Languages” explains that people express and receive love in different ways: words of affirmation, acts of service, quality time, physical touch, and gifts.

If you show care through presence, but they need verbal affirmation, they might not feel loved. Misalignment isn’t anyone’s fault—it’s a gap in translation.

14. If I only want companionship, support, or understanding from someone, does that mean it’s not real friendship?
Not necessarily. Everyone seeks something from others. That’s human.

But the key is this: Are you seeing the other person as a whole being, or just a function? Are they a real “you,” or just a “thing that helps me”?

Buber warned us: when we treat others as tools, we fall into the “I–It” world.
True friendship arises when we care not just about what they give us, but about who they are, their loneliness, their pain, their wholeness.

15. If a friendship no longer brings joy or usefulness, is it still worth anything?
That depends on how you define “value.”

From a utilitarian lens: no joy, no gain = no worth.
But from an existential or Buberian view: the value lies not in what the relationship gives you, but in what it is—did it happen authentically? Did we truly show up? Were we seen?

Presence gives meaning, not productivity.

16. If a friendship is based only on joy or benefit, can it still be called friendship?
That depends on your definition.

According to Aristotle, these are lower-level friendships—based on utility or pleasure. They’re valid, but unstable. When the joy or usefulness disappears, so might the relationship.

Still, they can be the gateway to deeper connection. They’re not wrong—just not the destination.

17. But why do so many friendships eventually fall apart? Is friendship, like existence, fundamentally fragile?
Yes. Not because it’s flawed, but because it’s human.

We change. Our paths diverge. We grow at different speeds.
Friendship, like existence, is full of uncertainty. But that doesn’t mean it’s meaningless.

Buber would say: the “Thou” comes and goes, but every time it arrives, it leaves a trace in the soul. Even if the friendship ends, what happened was real.

18. So what does “true friendship” require?
Many of us think “real love” must be unconditional—but that’s more ideal than reality.

True friendship isn’t blind loyalty. It’s the choice to stay, even after truly seeing the other’s flaws.

It’s not about giving endlessly, but choosing—again and again—to walk alongside someone, not because they’re perfect, but because they’re real.

That’s not unconditional love. That’s ethical commitment.

19. “All real living is meeting,” said Martin Buber. But have we ever truly “met” someone?
In Buber’s terms, “meeting” doesn’t mean just knowing someone. It means being fully present with them.

We usually interact through tasks, plans, or small talk. But real life happens in those rare, unguarded moments—when you show your vulnerability, and the other stays.

If you’ve ever:

• Admitted something hard and weren’t judged,
• Sat in silence and still felt heard,
• Felt, even briefly, “I’m here, and so are you”—

Then you’ve had a true “I–Thou” moment.
And sometimes, once is enough to mark you forever.

20. Is embracing uncertainty and vulnerability the real courage of friendship? And why take that risk?
Yes—real friendship is always a risk.

You have to open your heart, without knowing if it will be received. You have to let someone see the soft parts of you, knowing they could turn away.

Why do we do it?

Because there’s nothing more life-affirming than being fully known, and still welcomed.
That moment of true meeting is worth the risk—because it’s when we feel most alive.

21. If I offer my real self again and again, and keep being disappointed—can I still trust in friendship?
It’s a painful question—and an honest one.

You have two choices:

Retreat into the safe, manageable “I–It” world—functional, distant, predictable.

Or remain open to the possibility that the next encounter might be real.

Buber reminds us: even if the other person no longer responds, the “I–Thou” you once lived still shaped you. You don’t stay vulnerable because of guarantees.
You stay vulnerable to remain fully human.

22. If I keep trying to be present and get hurt, is it worth continuing?
It depends.

Are you giving yourself out of love—or out of fear of losing them?

Are you staying because you still see something real—or because you can’t let go of a version that no longer exists?

23. When is holding on loyalty—and when is it self-destruction?
Loyalty is when you stay for someone’s humanity.
Self-destruction is when you stay to prove your worth.

The difference is whether you’re honoring the other—or betraying yourself.

24. Can I still be a good friend if I have limits?
Yes. In fact, recognizing your limits is what makes your care sustainable.

No one can give endlessly. A true friend gives within their capacity, and speaks truthfully about it.

25. Why do people often misunderstand each other even when they care?
Because love isn’t just about intent—it’s about translation.

You may love with actions. They may need words. You may show up in silence. They may need validation.

We don’t always know how to speak each other’s emotional language.

26. Are most failed friendships about lack of love—or lack of understanding?
More often the latter.

Many friendships don’t end because we stopped caring—but because we didn’t know how to show it, or couldn’t receive it in the form it came.

27. If my presence isn’t received, does my care still count?
Yes.

Caring isn’t only real when it’s returned.
If you showed up authentically, you proved not only your love—but your courage to be seen and rejected.

28. If my care leads only to pain—should I still stay?
Maybe not.

Sometimes, love means letting go—not because you stopped caring, but because you’ve cared all you can without losing yourself.

29. So… do we seek friendship for happiness—or for proof that we’re worth existing?
We may start with happiness.
But at our core, we seek friendship because we want to be known. To feel that our existence is not invisible.

Not to be liked, but to be witnessed.
Not to be entertained, but to be held in memory.

“We seek friendship not for happiness, but to prove: I am worthy of being seen, accepted, and existing.”

That is not just a conclusion.
It is the softest and strongest center of our philosophical search for what it means to be human.