Someone who gets me

On Sunday, while I was out shopping for a money belt, BI texted me the following in three separate messages:
Two things.
I miss you.
Where’s a good place for brunch in The City?

When I received the first two messages, I thought she was drunk-texting me. I have never been drunk-texted by a girl, much less on Sunday morning, so I was quite amused.
The Drake Hotel, I texted back.
She asked if I could join her for brunch.
I am with some guys from last night but they are leaving, she said.
I raised an eyebrow but only texted back, No problem.

Two hours later, CMA and I arrived at The Drake Hotel (I invited CMA at the last minute because she was a classmate of ours that had just moved to The City and I knew she was dying for me to take her to The Drake, or anywhere for that matter). I spotted BI immediately, lounging with – not one, not two – but four guys on the couches by the window.

BI introduced them as friends of Friend X who had shown up for Friend X’s birthday party last night. There was a German, a Russian, a Portuguese, and an Indian. It was like a bad racial joke. The introductions were awkward, seeing as we didn’t know them and BI barely knew them.

“Sorry for the last-minute notice,” BI said after we ordered. “I’m really glad you made it. This may be the last time I see you!” She has said that the last three times we’ve seen each other.

But it’s true, since classes ended, each time we see each other feels like it’ll be the last. Neither of us are sure how long it’ll be before our next get-together (after I go off to Singapore that is), so while we’re still in the same country, we make the most of it, which explains why I dropped what I was doing and drove all the way downtown after getting her text. I was hoping the boys would leave quickly, I wanted girl-talk time with my girl.

In the meantime, I concentrated on the food, an overflowing platter of scrambled egg whites, bacon, home fries, and toast, a breakfast burrito, and blueberry scones with raspberry jam and whipped cream (to share). What? We were eating for three hours okay?

After the food and the boys were gone, BI broke the news about her apartment-hunting woes. She was starting a job in The City in a few months and had originally planned to take over her cousin’s apartment, which was in a great location downtown (at a great price). Her cousin was supposed to move to Brazil with his wife, but he called her not 24 hours prior to say that he was probably not going anywhere. In fact, he might be getting a divorce.
This, of course, spurred a whole discussion about marriage, monogamy, and relationships. It’s strange how all my discussions with BI these days lead to the topic of marriage.
“I read this book called ‘The Myth of Monogamy‘ and in it, they say that most animals, humans included, are not meant to be monogamous. In fact, there are only seven species of monogamous animals in the wild,” BI said conspiratorially.
“Yes, I don’t know if monogamy is necessarily the key to a good marriage,” I said, surprising even myself. “Perhaps a polygamous arrangement could be just as successful, if people know what they’re getting into and have the right expectations.”
“Really?” CMA asked, looking doubtful. “I mean I know marriage is a social institution, but don’t you think the point of this practice is to elicit the promise of devotion?”
“Well if marriage is just about tying down someone who promises to devote himself to me, then I might as well marry my dog!” I said, a little too loudly.
Suddenly, BI burst out laughing, breaking the mood of our overly serious discussion. Seconds later, I was laughing with her, until we were making such a ruckus that our neighbours started shooting us angry looks.

This is why I love BI. She laughs with me (at me, with me, same thing), she makes me see the absurdity of some of my more extreme statements, and she makes me feel endlessly amusing, albeit a bit naive. For the last year and a half, BI has been my best friend at The Business School. We’re not best friends in a wearing-BFF-bracelets-and-having-sleepovers kind of way. But I feel like we can talk to each other, truthfully and without judgment. She’s the closest thing I have to a confidant at TBS. And of course, I love the fact that she finds me hilarious. She will often burst out laughing in the middle of our conservations at something I’ve said, something that I wouldn’t have otherwise found funny. I like the fact that she finds me amusing, lovable, sassy. I love seeing that me through her eyes. She makes me feel really special, like a true Sassy Girl.

Moreover, she’s five years older than me, and that much wiser, so she can give me advice about boys like she knows what she’s talking about. Having a friend like BI makes me honestly start to wish that I had an older sibling. Because seriously, I would love it if I had an older sister to tell it to me like it is without the bullshit – a trooper of the “He’s Not Into You” camp – and prepare me for the heartache that’s sure to come. I guess what I’m saying is that I want to keep BI as a friend, but I’m afraid that it might be difficult once we’re oceans apart with no shared context. Friends can care about you when it’s convenient but the commitment isn’t unconditional.

Unfortunately, I can’t force BI to be my older sister and care for me unconditionally. She’s been a great friend, whether or not our friendship stands the test of time (and space). I’m not supposed to feel bad about moving on with my life, even if that means leaving some people behind (kind of par for the course when I choose to move halfway around the world), but as she said at our last meeting, “It’s like the end of an era!” (and then I squealed with delight for hearing a quote from Friends, my all time favourite TV show ever) and I gave her a tight hug because I knew in that instant that she got me. She was the only person I met at TBS who ever really got me.

And now I have to make new friends in a completely different city with a completely different culture on a completely different continent. Will I still be considered witty? Funny? Sassy? Will they get me?