My first real best friend was a blond girl named Veronika who, when I first met her, wore a somewhat pink princess dress for Halloween to Kindergarten. We met there when I was four years-old. She was three. And she cried. A lot. I asked her if she wants to play and this is how our friendship began. We spent nearly every day together for years. Either we played at my house or at hers. Whenever she got in trouble so did I. And vice versa. We started taking ballet lessons together and switched after a short while to Karate. (“Mom, can we please stop taking ballet lessons and rather practice Karate instead?”) We hated it. Especially the ballet shoes. We were attached and close; did homework together, played for hours and had countless sleepovers (even though we lived almost next door to each other). We grew older but were still so close. Her mom drove us to our favorite ice cream place and my mom cooked Spaghetti with meat sauce for us at home. Best friends for life.
Later on, we went to different school and separated in some way. We did not spend that much time together anymore. Interests changed, we had our first boyfriend and became reclusive. I joined the Police Academy and she went to language school which was what I really always wanted to do. And this weird stage of our friendship went on for many years but we always knew what the other one was up to – mostly because of our parents who are friends to this day, too. Initially, we were as cliché as best friends could be. She was my safety net, my secret keeper but then we grew apart to some extend. We drifted apart. New friendships, weird experiences and whatnot. Who knows. We just decided to go in different directions for some time.
I found new friends. Good friends. So did she. When do I call a friend my “best friend”? When they know all my deepest secrets and know me well enough to understand all my inside jokes by heart? A person you could tell anything and everything and know they will keep the secret? At some point I stopped using the term “best friend” to describe someone; it just felt childish. Almost like, “what is your favorite book or color?” But then again I realized that it is normal to feel more comfortable with one person rather than another, even when it is just a friendship. Some very close friends know a lot about me, saw me crying in the hospital waiting room, listen for hours when I am depressed about this damn thesis and others just slowly fade away like waves.
My world expands daily and so do my friendships. Sometimes they are very long and deep, or short and deep. Sometimes weird but perfect and other times just very long yet low on artistic intercourse and everything else. They are just humming along in a way for years. Some are more nuanced than that. I don’t remember where I heard it but this sentence “Best friend is a tier, not a person” sticks with me ever since. (The Mindy Project?) For some reason, whenever I think about my confusing or weird relationships I have/had with people, thinking about this sentence makes it all click into one place in some way. I am German and I love to apply structure and a secure wall to feelings and things but is this always possible?
Veronika flew to Canada to visit me a couple of weeks ago and we had the best time ever. Long talks. Wine, laughing, thinking, exploring, catching up, crying, hugging and more conversation. It was this level of intimacy and this sacred shared space and language that only we both understand and know. Our friendship is limitless and infinite and I never want to miss it.
