Today, I found myself at breakfast, then lunch, then dinner, then post-drinks with Ya., one of my closest friends. Suddenly we went from post-dinner drinks to me making up the bed in her guest room for a close relative. And apparently there are grand plans to watch Star Wars with the gentlemen while drinking unforgivably cheap red wine.
The day went. We traded bits of poetry and titles of good novels. We discussed Audrey Hepburn, Sophia Loren and Brigitte Bardot’s beauty and talent in great detail.
I fussed about my ex-es over huge mugs of steaming Sri Lankan tea, and later, glasses of wine and beer. I cried about how the illusion of perfection destroys almost all of my elationships. Ya. appeared with a box of tissues and patted my arm, and then, much like men, we did not discuss my tears any longer once I emerged from the bathroom with a fresh coat of lipstick and bright eyes.
For twelve hours, we simply spent time together, discussing love, relationships, friendships, novels we’re reading, novels we want to read, and films. We lined our eyes and fixed our hair before dinner; we straightened tights as we heard men’s footsteps coming up the back stairs. We traded, like 13 year old girls, slightly dirty jokes about men.
My other closest friend, Naomi, would have been right at home with Ya. and me. Nay, a great friend in her own right, once randomly drove 3 hours to meet us for brunch. When life is falling apart, as it tends to do from time to time, we three find ways to come to each other’s rescue. They understand the nuances of my character and love me in spite of my numerous imperfections.
When you’re single, as I am, and living away from close family members, great friends become a necessity. Great friends love you as you are, support you, but always challenge you to become better. Ya’s brilliance inspires me to be a better writer; she reminds me that, as an artist, I must feast on beautiful things so that what I create is also beautiful. We trade housekeeping secrets and teaching secrets and real secrets. We share a strange, postcolonial vision of the world that both loves and resents England’s power over our home countries.
This entry is for them: the girls that drink with me, cry with me, laugh with me, count me as a sister. We yell, we fight, we disagree, but we snap back with the power of new elastic.
be a great friend,