Last week, I attended the wedding of a close friend. He was a schoolmate of mine and I knew him for almost 16 years. I knew him since I was in Form 1 where he was in the same class.

His wedding was the latest in a series of weddings which began in 2010. One by one, my circle of school friends ended their bachelorhood. In the space of 2 years, the number of those without a spouse numbered in the minority.

My alma mater is La Salle Petaling Jaya. A school situated off Jalan Gasing, Petaling Jaya, probably one of the most multi-racial stretch of road in West Malaysia. I spent five years there. I had some wonderful memories of my time in La Salle Petaling Jaya, memories etched firmly in my mind.

It seemed only yesterday that I trudged my way to a huge tree in the middle of the school compound known only as the ‘pokok besar’, the place where we had our daily assemblies. I had my up and my downs; my share of canings and bad examination results, my portion of ‘Parang Gila’ comics, WWE wrestling and English Premier League. I gained a formal secondary school education in La Salle Petaling Jaya, but the time I spent also molded my character and shaped the worldview I hold today.

Most of all, my alma mater bestowed upon me a group of close friends. We were a bunch of rebels without a cause. Just like the lyrics to the song ‘Seasons in the Sun’, during those carefree days we had joy and we had fun. We skinned our hearts and skinned our knees, indeed.

We are multi-racial and multi-religious, as cliché as this claim may sound. It is not as if we do not see each other as belonging to different ethnicities and religion. Yet we swept under the carpet the fact that there are differences amongst us. Instead, we celebrated those differences. Racial remarks and insults are thrown around at each other, in jest, given in good faith and received in good faith. We did not merely tolerated, we celebrated the fact that we are all different.

We left school in 2000, choosing different paths in life. But we still spent time with each other when we could. The fact that most of us were based in Petaling Jaya also meant that it was easier for us to constantly meet up. Even when some of us furthered our educations overseas, when we returned it was as if we never left. That is how close we are.

10 years after high school, we still spent a lot of time with each other. Futsal, karaoke and of course, the obligatory nasi kandar sessions. We could spend hours just talking, stacking up empty glasses of teh tariks until they cluttered the table. Politics and current affairs are our passion, so that was our topics of choice. Our opinions differed, as different as our political ideologies. We would have heated debates on issues, but they never left the table and it never became personal.

As we built our respective careers, we also one by one found our life partners. Before we knew it, we had to grow up and we had to take responsibilities. Boys had to become men. Men became husbands. Husbands became fathers. At the wedding last week, four from our circle of friends have already been blessed with children. Real life kicked in, and it is nothing like our seasons in the sun of yore.

For me personally, it was a long time since I last spent time with them. In the pursuit of my career, I sacrificed my time with my circle of friends. I did not meet them for months and it was particularly bad when my closest friend became a father I did not even remember to congratulate him with a short phone call. I am not sure if he felt slighted with my omission, but even if he did I am sure that he would not hold it against me and probably forgiven my ‘sin’.

The wedding reminded me of what I missed. It was the pure, unpretentious company of people so close that they might as well be my brothers. Between us, no subject is taboo, no joke is too far and no request is too much. I knew that I could depend on any of them should I find encounter any problem.

When the formal part of the reception ended and the lights dimmed for the dance floor, I looked at my circle of friends dancing the night away. I could see the same group of rebels without a cause that roamed the streets of Petaling Jaya and semi-terrorised the school. Older, wiser and bigger (horizontally, most of the time), but still the same people that I grew up with.

In a world divided by superficial lines; race, religion and political ideology, friends like these are priceless. In a country where everything is racial, friends who are blind to colour are precious.

*first published on 23 February 2012 for The Star iPad.