My circle of friends is a narrow one, comprising of less than a dozen individuals. Each was exhaustively selected, processed and acquired during a lifetime of wandering and growth. Nothing esoteric unites them, except some form of association with me; none, as far as I know, are particularly well-known, endowed with special talent, especially unique or unreasonably kind. None, up to now, have changed, or significantly contributed to, the course of world history.
They are, nonetheless, all intrinsically good people, with a goodness that washes away sullen souls, always. Happily, this process of friendly acquisition is a mutual exercise, and I feel quietly privileged for it; not the privilege of granted status, but that wrought from daily toil and the struggle of personalities.
This diaspora of friends – this Thomaspora – encircles our world, from Bavaria, to sunny California, London and the English Midlands, Rome, once again war-torn Lebanon and here in Singapore; it extends beyond our terrestial form, extending to envelop the Heavens.
It sometimes feels as if I am an expatriate, distanced and disentangled from these fellow creatures, my fellow creatures, and I am longing for a moment when time can be halted and space compressed, when this circle can surround me again.
