Friendship is an art that requires talent, time, and dedication. Sometimes it lasts a lifetime, sometimes not, but its importance lies in the extent to which it lives in us. In a society obsessed with romantic love and professional success - the perfect job, the ideal partner, the golden children, and the little house in the country - we easily forget the degree to which our close friends are fundamental components not only of the shaping of our individuality, but of our lives.

Two weeks after my mother died, a message appeared on her Messenger (we had not yet cancelled her accounts, which today is tantamount to officially writing you off as dead). One of her best friends from her twenties was writing to announce that she had finally retired and now had time to talk.

The idea that friendships become harder to maintain once you pass the thirties curve seems to be a fact. Life changes; we change. I recently asked a group of people whether they found it more complicated to maintain and make friends after 30; their answer was a resounding yes. Amidst work obligations, partners, family, and the twists and turns of life, it can be easy to lose track. By the time we realise it, our lives barely collide. Still, part of me cannot help but wonder, is it a lack of time or interest?

The web is littered with photos of friends toasting and articles about how social relationships affect our health. We know about the correlation between genetic traits and environment; that gazing into each other's eyes activates our brain's social network; that there is a higher rate of cardiovascular problems among people who feel lonely; that we are born to connect; that dementia worsens if a person is isolated; that our immune system declines when we are depressed and that prolonged levels of stress ages us. But we say little about the influence of friendship over our being and our lives.

I grew up in a family where friends were considered the family of choice. There would always seem to be someone having coffee in the kitchen. For my parents, friends didn't take up time; they filled the house with life. And although, as a child, I sometimes found it a drag when my parents' friends held me in the kitchen with the same endless stories, I am grateful they instilled in me the importance of those long evenings of food, wine, storytelling and political debates. And although we changed countries often, and they inevitably lost many of their friends along the way, they managed to keep in touch with most of those close to them. Preserving relationships was not only possible but essential. I am talking about a generation that grew up without the means of communication we have today. An international phone call would cost you an arm and a leg.

Throughout lockdown the scarce amount of communication I was having with some of my friends became obvious. Yes, we would look at our Instagram feeds and drop a "like" here and there, but we barely called each other. Given that we are the most digitised generation with the most access to media, and given that we were at home and were being spared the day-to-day commute to work, the lack of meaningful encounters no longer seemed to be a matter of lack of time. And while the pandemic brought us together in many ways, it also showed us the cracks in society. The elderly were already dying alone, and the so-called epidemic of loneliness was already raging. As for me and many others, it made me take a closer look at the nature of my relationships. If you don't call your friends when the world seems to be falling apart, when then? Is this hyper-connectivity in which we live giving us the illusion that we are connected when,

Men are unable to talk about toxic masculinity. At least, that’s what I gathered when I asked my friend for a second opinion on the topic. Even as close friends, we struggled above little more than a shrug of the shoulders and a closing comment - "there's not much to be said about it anymore" - which came not because he believes, nor do I, that it is a non-problem or because discussing it would be unbeneficial. And nor because he is convinced that we have already mapped the topic entirely. Instead, it was because most debates rotate around the same questions and approaches, focusing on machismo, misogyny, and how they manifest, rather than men’s inability to simply confront the topic at hand. In a dismissive and defensive manner, men shy away from challenging toxic behaviour. As such, it has become so conventional now that it makes up the patriarchal fabric of our contemporary societies.

From catcalling to the objectification of women, psychological manipulation to physical threat, or mansplaining to domestic violence, toxic masculinity underlies the social relations men and women assume. Even for the most humble, we assume courtesy for interest, mistake friendship for sexual attraction, and excuse emotions or behaviour with "man up" and "boys will be boys". Yet to challenge this behaviour is a challenge itself. I admit that in the beginning, what I had in mind was an article about what toxic masculinity is, how it affects people, and how to approach it critically. However, it felt too general. I realised that discussing toxic masculinity from a broad perspective would not have been as interesting and valuable as I had imagined. It would have been yet another redundant argument about stuff you probably already know and agree with. So, why not talk directly to men and confront them directly on our inability to engage in a debate. We men are too toxic to even talk about toxic behaviours. And understanding why is a password to change.

"One cannot say anything, then!"

So, again, why is it so hard to confront people about it and why are men very dismissive or defensive about masculinity and toxic traits? The answer, I point out, is less self-pitying or arrogant than you would believe. It is already a manifestation of how our ideas of masculinity shape our response or silence. To put it bluntly, there is a "toxic masculine" way to address and discuss the topic, self-pitying or arrogant on the surface, way more complex in reality.

This is a significant problem of debates regarding "toxic masculinity" - we seem to be unable to talk about it. Many men feel attacked when confronted with the fact that they are members of a social category that has been and is privileged in most parameters: economically, politically, academically, and the list goes on. Some even cry out they are being targeted simply for being men. They often reply "but not all men!" or downplay ignorantly or maliciously the consequences of toxic behaviours for themselves and others. Discussing issues like "patriarchy", to use an overarching term, is of paramount importance, and turning your head away from social behaviours or structures will not help.

Examples? "But not all men!"; "But women themselves choose psychology instead of engineering, s