Friendship Love Letter: 4th Edition

As you know, friendship is a big deal to me: oases in this here cruel life. I also believe in letting people smell their roses

so per protocol, the letter is as anonymous as possible. If you think it’s yours you may claim it, ask to be acknowledged by name and/or write back. Let’s go!

This one is going to be short because I genuinely can’t remember how we met or what magic was in the air when we became friends but much like your stature in real life: that thing they always say about dynamite.

I know we met in university. We always start with who I was when the friendship started and how meeting you enhanced/changed that. In your case, I think we were friends and Kindred spirits before meeting. I believe that we would’ve gotten on like a house on fire in my tweens. You are everything I was and ever wanted when I was 12-18. A black girl with whom I could shamelessly recite Avril Lavigne, Pink, Ashlee Simpson, Kelly Clarkson and all the other Queens who reigned supreme during the punk-pop moment that dominated the 00s. You would have understood these competing truths: my desire to don Doc Martens and wear black eyeliner sans the scary studs and tongue rings and the equally strong unlikelihood that our Sotho (North and South) mothers would ever allow it. I’ve since learned that we are many but at the time, you would’ve been my unicorn.

Speaking of unicorns, you are my favourite white boy (she’s neither). The gravitational pull you have on orthopaedic humans/rugby lovers is my favourite supernatural phenomenon. You take my breath away. You’re kind, free-spirited, frank (very frank) and fancy. You’re John Hugh’s muse: you wouldn’t be out of place in Sixteen Candles and The Breakfast Club. I’m planning on buying you combat boots one of these years so you can fulfil your calling as a leading lady.

I thank God everyday for final year and the fact that it brought us closer together. We’ve done some ridiculous sh*t together: we’ve physically smashed bottles to relieve stress and cheer ourselves up post exams (but responsibly, driving dillingently so that our violent rebellion wouldn’t harm anyone). You’ve concinved me to drive distances for wedding fairs (idk idk idk). I worry about you when you’re on call without impractical jewellery (seriously, how are you not constantly harrased by paediatric patients?) and your camping outfits put my dressier moments to shame. There have been road trips aplenty and tears too. Not once have you ever been a source of stress. I associate you with impromptu waffles on a rainy day, open topped cars (I think the people call them convertibles) and carefully cooking eggs in our kitchen (you didn’t live with us BTW) despite the fact that you rarely cook and that I’m still waiting for that dinner party invitation.

You are the first person I think of when I hear Dolly Parton, you are the only person I know who knew the intricacies of #FreeKesha and the only person I didn’t have to force to go see The Script with me for the 2nd time. Again, I’m not sure if we were friends friends then but I had no doubts about you then and I certainly don’t now. We’ve since seen other such acts together and I know that when Passenger comes for its third visit, I’ll be there. I look forward to many more road trips with you, “till the wheels fall off”.



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