My Best Friend

*** SPOILER alert: this is not the kind of BFF description where you’d read it’s the person that knows you best, understands you perfectly, and sometimes don´t even have to talk to in order to convey any message whatsoever, since they know exactly what you´re thinking. I am not saying such people are impossible, just they’re very rare, and the connection, if any, is but fleeting. And this is not about that type of folks.

*** SPOILER alert: this is not the kind of BFF description where you’d read it’s the person that knows you best, understands you perfectly, and sometimes don’t even have to talk to in order to convey any message whatsoever, since they know exactly what you’re thinking. I am not saying such people are impossible, just they’re very rare, and the connection, if any, is but fleeting. And this is not about that type of folks.

There may not be many best friends for a lifetime, as there may be more than one during one’s life. You don’t even think to call them as such, because they are there all the time, and you kind of take them for granted until you take a beat, stop a minute and realize: hey, they’re my best friend. I was taught — or rather: had come to learn — to beware of absolute superlatives, mostly because they just imprint a label that sets a very high standard. Besides, labels are a very rudimentary form of restricting and liming that one should avoid applying to people. Nevertheless, in this case, I wanted to write about my best friend, so maybe the apparent label will stand corrected by the body of this entry.

Said entry is about a very specific person in my life, and he’s been my best friend for a very long time now, for the simplest of reasons: I could never run out of stuff to talk about with him, to share, or simply to reflect on without snap-of-the-fingers getting to thinking what he would have to say. I could also never get enough of his company, his good spiritedness, his unending sense of humour, or funny streaks.

Yes, he is the type of person you want to call when something amazing happens, with whom you want to share some big breaking news, or whom you wish they’d be there when you have a milestone to pass or a stepping stone to… well, step on. But he is also the one I want to call when I enjoy a beautiful view or a nice holiday, a sweet glass of wine or a delicious dish. He is also the one I most admire for his take on life — the most startling combination of sensibility, strong-mindedness, relative peaceful acceptance of stuff and people, mindfulness, proneness to meditating without loosing himself in thoughts, and down-to-earthness.

We are mostly alone in this world, and I am not saying it in a bad way. On the contrary: I stand by it from the stance of highly appreciating solitude as a space available for quiet and calm reflection, even though apparently the only synonym devoid of negative connotation is privacy. But we are alone, objectively speaking: nobody lives with us, in our bodies, in our minds, in our internal organs, in our cells and molecules. I also happen to appreciate, look for, and many times find myself longing for the respite of aloneness.

Well, my best friend is one of the few people in this world I would happily give up any solitude I may experience, any absolute silence I would enjoy, any hard-won space or room I would have to think or reflect, at any given time, to just talk to, videochat, or text. Talks with him are funny and sincere, travels with him are fascinating and original, drinks or tasty meals with him are something to look for and to feel deeply nostalgic of. I also laugh my heart out most of the time I get to spend with him.

Despite the god-of-fun-and-brightness traits I may have (un)willingly managed to bestow upon him with this lengthy chacarterization, he is a pretty normal person, with normal if not simple needs and appreciative of small joys in life. He is also my youngest brother. Since this is one of the rare instances the English language doesn’t really help and there is only the odd “cadet” as synonym to baby brother, I’ll just summon two of the other tongues we both speak: the Romanian prâslea or the Spanish benjamín.

Happy B-Day, lovely brother prâslea benjamín. And to many happy and merrier returns! 🥳🥳🥳

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Author: Ruxandra Constantinescu

My every now and then jottings run on this blog in English, Spanish, and Romanian, as a tribute to all cultures I currently find myself at the crossroads of. I was born and raised in Bucharest, but I had been traveling in my mind ever since I could read. Eventually, I started doing it for real as soon as I could, so I got to study, work, live, and travel in Romania, Germany, France, and Spain. Take your pick of posts on books, travels, places, people, current social and emotional issues. International politics or current affairs are no stretch, as neither are movies, series, journalism and communication, nor teaching EFL.

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