Eileen; sahkae@gmail.com

I line my eyes like a raccoon and my nail polish is always cracked.

Autograph book-writing was characterized by a list of one’s ‘favourites’ and ‘hates’ back in Primary school. Along with a lengthy list of ‘best friends’, ‘good friends’, and ‘bad friends’. I can’t remember if I used the cheemer term, ‘enemies’ [ooh, BIG word!]. And of course, the book’s owner’s name would in included under the ‘best friends’ or ‘good friends’ section, albeit not being the best of acquaintances. Hypocrisy at an early age.

And as each birthday goes by, ‘best friend’ becomes relegated to a childhood memory; a bittersweet one where ‘I don’t friend you anymore’ on Monday transforms into ‘you’re my best friend’ on Tuesday.

Now, what I have on that list close to heart is ‘good friends’. Perhaps a little too shallow and superficial for modern-day context, but heck. Honestly, it’s impossible to set high standards and expect a friend to be around and see you through your darkest moments; hear you sob and wail endlessly and dole out tissues when need be after being dumped and picking up your call at 2am just to help decide on a clubbing outfit.

This little passage’s choppy and rather incoherent. I’m tired after Jj’s bbq party and lead’s weighing my eyelids down. They’re fluttering like windowblinds in the wind.

‘Good friends’ has its emphasis on the ‘company’. The comfort in the company. Sitting side by side, silent. Sitting across the table from the other, but nattering. Meeting up little, but feeling at ease in company. Home can be anywhere.

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