Not All Friends Stay

A letter to you, Kim

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“Best friends”. Thanks to you, my first reaction when I hear that phrase, is dread. Suffocating dread of people wanting something from me — my time, my advice, my space. I don’t want to, but ever since our friendship blew up in my face, I have dreaded being someone’s “best friend” again.

We had been friends since forever by the time it all ended — in the middle of night in Cardiff, 2009.

But remember how it started? We were desk mates in the primary school back home in Estonia. As you recall, we did everything together — studying, skipping classes, giggling over boys, hitchhiking.

Then, high school ended and for the first time ever, we had to really think for ourselves and decide on our future paths, academically and otherwise. But, neither of us knew what we really desired to do.

I half-heartedly applied to uni for both English and Estonian philology, and to college for a Youth Work course. We both ended up there, liking the sound of “youth” but you not so much the sound of “work”. I actually liked the course, but you joined because I did.

Remember our practical assignment — to lead a youth camp — during the summer after the first year? You can’t. You were a no-show on the morning of. Then, a few weeks later, you applied to study dance in another…