I used to think making friends was something that happened naturally. Like weather. Like
summer arriving after a long winter. In my twenties, connection felt accidental and easy:
university hallways, a Facebook poke , friends of friends who somehow became family. But
somewhere between turning thirty and moving across countries, friendship stopped feeling
spontaneous and started feeling intentional.
I lived in Warszawa for four years. At first, Poland felt cold in every possible sense. The
language intimidated me, people seemed reserved, and I often questioned what I was doing
there in the first place. I remember long winters walking through Muranow, wondering if I would
ever truly belong in that city. Yet slowly, almost without noticing, something shifted.
The people I met there became more than drinking buddies or temporary expat acquaintances.
They became part of my life in a deeper way. Real friendships built over dinners at home,
conversations that lasted until sunrise, birthdays, heartbreaks, everyday routines. The kind of
connections that don’t need constant performance. People who showed up.
I only realized how meaningful those friendships were after leaving Poland and returning to
Colombia. Distance has a strange way of revealing what was genuine. Some of those friends
visited me and my husband in Bogotá and Barranquilla. Seeing them in my world — speaking
broken Spanish and interacting with my family, dancing to reggaeton next to the river, sweating
in the Caribbean heat after years of Polish winters — made me understand that friendship,
when it is real, survives geography. It adapts. It travels.
Now I live in Madrid, and somehow, I find myself starting over again.
Madrid is vibrant, loud, and beautiful. Full of life. Full of people. And yet, meeting people in your
thirties feels completely different. The only difference is that now we speak the same language.
Everyone already seems to have their circles, their routines, their emotional bandwidth
occupied. Social media creates the illusion that we are constantly connected, but most
interactions feel temporary.. Especially as a gay man, I often feel like many spaces are built
around attraction first, connection second.
I miss genuine friendship. Conversations without ulterior motives. Meeting other gay men in
their thirties who also want community, softness, honesty. People who want to share a coffee, a
dinner at home, stories about popstars, career fears, migration, love. Real life beyond Instagram
stories and dating apps.
Starting from scratch at this stage of life can feel exhausting.Friendship now requires
vulnerability, effort, and patience in ways nobody prepares you for. But if Warszawa taught me
anything, it is that meaningful connections take time. They grow slowly. Quietly. And often when
you least expect them. So maybe this chapter in Madrid is not about instantly finding my people.
Maybe it is about remaining open enough to recognize them when they arrive.