My best friend

As you grow up, you realise certain words so commonly used in preteens have a rare place in grown up world. As I write ‘grown up world’ I get a feeling of all things morbid and so mature that it would start decaying the next second. I quickly turn my mind gaze to what made me argue with mom when she was around.

She would say, “Not everyone you meet is your best friend. Once you grow up and meet people who would stand by, you will know who your best friend is…!”

I would ask, “Isn’t that conditional…?”

“Why will I decide on relationship status based on timeline existence ?”

Mom would then flash that all knowing smile and “you’ll see” rung in my mind in oscillating echo.

I would then go silent thinking about the essay we all wrote in primary school years We all did, at least once.

‘My best friend’

How we all wrote about the person who ranked amongst the toppers in the class or school to be that special friend even if it were someone else. We would go on composing lines after lines describing him/her in a way that would make him/her to be the prime choice for a role model’s image.

You had no clue of where you may find yourself 20 years from then if not ended up already in pursuit but you knew all about your ‘best friend’s’ goal in his/her life as if they were yours! Perhaps, you were a tyrant or a brat in real life, but that one time you wrote in progression showing that special friend to be most disciplined, intelligent, studious, all rounder, talented, ambitious… Suddenly you seem to know the words, and your parents took you to be dense and dull… so not done!

The words you used in his/her appreciation got you your teacher’s and/or parent’s approval. That one nod that made you gloat for the choice you made in that person… he/she too had smiled back at you when you showed your notebook to him/her. Remember?

I had not featured in her essay for her bench partner would have given into sulking and she expected me to understand and I did.

Thinking back about what I wrote, and how I’m in touch with most of my schoolmates, including the one whose name I popped in the essay, I feel a sharp and constant and almost a parallel presence of a friend/relationship whose name appeared in my life sheet much later.

Fast forward to that gloomy, dark world of no fantasy where grownups live. That’s when we discovered our friendship. We are still exploring.

The magic mind fills with when I think of the times we spent and do when together. None of my boyfriends came close by. Ever.

If I were to write about her, under the title “my best friend”, this will go on. Decades long episodes can only be put in a novella. My intentions are different. I am reflecting on what I wrote, what mom said and who really is that special person.

She knows all my boy friends or at least about them, most of my insecurities and all my evil plans. She reminds me of who I am everytime I feel down and under. I wonder if any of that is true and when she observed all that. We couldn’t spend much time hanging out and it’s been a long distance affair for majority of the time. And so strong that someone else stepping by for a rebound will be like discovering an atomic evolutionary twin living on sun.

Mom was my best friend for all the right reasons and this girl… when we are not ‘playing’ friends seems to be mom’s extension.

About Olivia

Corporate worker, textile designer, writer.
This entry was posted in My Biopic Log, My mind and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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