Friendship Without Obligation vs. Loyalty for Life

How Different Cultures Define Connection

What defines a true friend—shared time, emotional closeness, or enduring loyalty? In many Western contexts, friendships are fluid, low-pressure, and shaped by convenience. But in collectivist cultures, connection comes with expectations: consistency, duty, and a deep-seated sense of permanence. A reflection on shifting norms, childhood bonds, and the quiet loneliness that comes with emotional independence..

By Kate Xie | Published on: March 21, 2025

A Quiet Shift in Friendship

I went to pick Lena up from school one afternoon. It took a while for his class to come down, even though most of the upper-grade students had already left. Standing alone in the schoolyard was his best friend, Coen. Like Lena, Coen is eleven and also of Asian heritage. The two of them make up about 80% of the school’s Asian population. They used to play together a lot.

The area reserved for older students was practically empty, with only Coen standing awkwardly by the corner. He looked uncomfortable in his aloneness and tried to mask it by checking his phone.

I walked over and chatted with him to keep him company. I always find it easier to connect with him than with Lena’s other friends, most of whom are white Dutch boys. It’s not about race—it’s about attitude, etiquette, the overall vibe. Coen is mellow and humble, an ideal embodiment of collectivism. When he’s at our house, I never worry about noise or chaos. Unlike the white kids, who tend to jump from one activity to another within minutes, he stays grounded.

We talked about his older brother and how he’s adjusting to high school. Then finally Lena came down. But instead of joining our conversation, he hovered nearby, circling impatiently, waiting for us to finish.

Another lanky boy with large glasses approached, greeted Coen silently, and also stood by, waiting. I wished Coen well and quickly wrapped up the conversation. As I watched him walk off with the new boy, I felt a strange sadness—he looked lonely, even in the company of another.

Different Playbooks

I turned to Lena, frowning. “Is Coen not your friend anymore?” I asked, a little surprised and annoyed.

“No, Mama,” Lena said, glancing up from whatever he was kicking. “He’s still my friend.”

“Then why didn’t you greet him or say anything just now?” I asked. The social norms of ten-year-old Dutch boys still puzzle me.

He shrugged, clearly unbothered, and showed no intention of thinking twice about it.

As we walked toward the car, I said, “You know, when I was your age, I had a best friend. We walked home together, went to PE together, had lunch together—even went to the toilet together.”

“Yeah, I know, Mama. You told me already,” Lena replied, slightly irritated.

“How does it work with your friends at school, then? You don’t talk to each other. He doesn’t come over to play anymore. But you’re still friends?” I was trying to understand what might’ve happened—according to my social playbook, someone doesn’t just fall out of your inner circle without a major conflict.

“Nothing happened, Mama! I still talk to him. Just not now.” He jumped in the car, uninterested in further discussion.

I didn’t push it. I knew that, for him, this was simply normal.

In Lena’s world, affection and affinity come and go. Nothing is permanent. Loyalty and exclusivity are not expected, let alone valued.

First Encounters with Cultural Dissonance

As I drove home with my usual piano music in the background, my mind drifted back to my first exposure to Western social norms. My college roommate once said, 'Ugh, I really don’t want to see that person. I just bumped into her three days ago—we already caught up! And now I’ll see her again tonight. I’m going to be so bored…'

I was stunned—how could someone be bored spending time with a friend? How does boredom even relate to friendship? And even if she felt that way, how could she admit it out loud? My Asian mind ran wild with judgment.

What Friendship Meant Where I’m From

The kind of relationships I grew up with were rooted in permanence, loyalty, exclusivity, and a strong sense of social obligation. In middle school, I spent every day with the same fifty classmates. From 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., we studied, played, ate, and even napped together as one. The word bored was never used to describe another person.

The Limits of Emotional Individualism

Later, while living in the U.S., I remember how shocked I was to hear a friend complain about having to spend an afternoon with someone who had recently fallen into depression. Or hearing a podcaster offer this as profound advice to adult listeners: “Really listen when your loved ones talk to you about their pain. Shut down your own thoughts for a moment, and truly listen.”

I couldn’t help thinking “Does that really need to be framed as a revelation? Isn’t that something a person learns by the age of six? If someone is your loved one, shouldn’t your brain automatically tune in?”

Letting Go of Expectations

These moments continue to strike me as unexplainable—cold, quiet facts I’ve learned to live with but haven’t yet reconciled.

I once believed that human connection was universal.

But the longer I stayed in Western society, the more I realized: I was wrong.

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