I’ve been struggling to approach this topic for a while now.
Who’d want to outrightly admit that they had broken up with their best friend?
I mean, you already look and sound mean enough complaining about the fact that you needed a time out from the person who checked in on you the most.
Worse still, from the person you spent innumerable hours with discussing best-maid outfits and how you’d have to coordinate your wedding and ruracio dates perfectly to avoid burnout, all the while discussing what cheap wine brands taste less like chang’aa because adulting is synonymous to budgeting.
And wine is indubitably bae.
It’s 4pm on a Friday at work and I’m done with all my tasks (I intentionally come in an hour earlier on Fridays only because I tend to lose focus by lunch time), and I know by now we’d have already made plans to hang out at Brew Bistro.
Out of habit, she’d have told me that she was broke, or that she needed to send some mchango to one of her chamas, so Brew was only to be a 2-drink plan. Unless she called up Jamo from Finance at her audit firm to hook us up. And boy did Jamo hook us up. Then I’d meet someone else I knew who’d chafua the table and before we knew it, a 2-drink plan would’ve turned out to us leaving the raev at 5 in the morn.
But I didn’t mind.
“I’ll get you a jug, you just come,” I’d urge her and she’d reply with a, “Sawa.30 minutes.”
When I learned of the news that my maternal grandma had passed away, she was right there next to me. Literally, beside me. She wasn’t the ‘mother-bear-hug-lemme-rub-your -back’ type. That was more of my role. But she was the ‘I’m-here-I-got-you-what-you-need’ type. Plus my sister was so busy hugging me that she never had the chance to.
A year later, when my paternal grandma passed away, she was a no-show.
No text, no call, nothing.
By then we weren’t really talking. I’d have thought that she would get in touch, but it didn’t happen. Maybe she didn’t know. Or if she did, she decided to keep her distance.
My birthday came and passed. Again, still a no show.
Got a new job, the one I’d been animating about for months-on-end and yet, I couldn’t tell her the good news.
It felt like a death in the family.
Ours was a relationship that had all the symptoms of a disease, but with patients who chose to turn a blind eye to the diagnosis.
The tipping point was the guy she’d been dating. Long-distance.
He was a bum, I told her. He was a gem, she believed.
“I was the only one against their blossoming relationship, out of all her friends,” she quipped.
Back to the topic in mind; my point of this post was to what, escape?
I just realized that I have been going through best friend withdrawals. So I called a close friend of ours and vented to her. God bless mediators.
Her counsel? To ‘sit in that feeling’. And I wondered, huh? That had got to be the worst friendship advice ever given on the face of the earth.
‘Sit in my feelings’?
Like was I to make a jumbo mug of hot cocoa, plop on the sofa, wrap myself in a fluffy purple cuddle blanket, look out the window and ‘sit in my withdrawal feelings’?
“Exactly,” she exclaimed and before hanging up yelled, “lemme know how it goes!”
I guess that’s what I’m doing. Sitting in my feelings. Or rather, writing them out.
Are we still back to being friends? I think we’ve always been friends, and we always will be.
Are we ‘talking at the moment’? No.
I think we need to figure out our W.A.I.T, ‘Why Am I Talking’, period before we actually meet to talk and discuss. If we ever get to do that.
In the meantime, she remains to be the type of friend who’s family. The type you’re cheesy with without necessarily feeling cheesy and the type to be brutally honest with, despite the repercussions, such as a broken friendship.
If we do survive this fissure, then there’s nothing our friendship won’t overcome. If not, then we were lucky to have made happy memoirs that we’ll cherish for years to come.
To sleepovers, Snapchat takeovers, cheap wine, rants about boys who break our hearts and back-&-forth nail polish selfies with my Best friend.