My friend, Eva & I used to have wild imaginations. We like to ask each other ridiculous questions and reply them in the most rational way.
We could make pizza toppings the best conversation in the world complete with a detailed, visual description of the pizza enough to make any full person hungry again.
Eva & I went back a long time ago, almost 6 years to be precise, when we were two freshies homesick and dying for mom's cooking.
I had never had a friend like her before that. We studied, ate, and explored JB together. We knew each other's likes & dislikes, and we loved surprising each other. The most fun thing about us is the way we liked to leave cutesy notes to each other in the most improbable places -between pages in books, on soft board, in drawer, on bed, etc. We expressed our delights in our friendship through poems, which were left on those notes.
And we loved to explore. Even when we were broke, with nowhere to go, we'd be lying on our beds, throwing questions like, 'Let's go backpacking. Where to first?' and we started to describe our dream vacation to each other. We figured out how much the vacation would cost, how to trim that cost to an achievable number ('We'll camp out at the bus station or something and we'll buy bread. Bread can last for 3 days') and what we wanted to do when we reached there. It was great fun just talking about it.
The not-so-fun but nevertheless hilarious moments usually occured when we dared each other. She dared me to walk up to a guy and asked for his name (I did. I just approached the guy and asked, 'Hey, Larry! Long time didn't see. You're Larry right?') I dared her something else. Most of the times the dares were clean, good fun, but sometimes they were just plain stupid.
Eva is a fun friend to be with. Life was never boring with her around. We could talk about anything as long as it's pure imagination with as little fact as possible. We talked about relationship (before I got into a relationship myself, I was the perfect counsellor because I never knew) and tried to figure out why guys did what they did, the possibility of love across any boundaries, religions included, etc. We discussed these over a cone of ice cream while swinging in the playground.
But things I treasure the most about Eva is the respect we have for each other. The tolerance she showed toward my aggressive & sometimes dark moods. The way she accepted me as equals when some people are too intimidated, and the way she pointed out my faults without hurting my feelings. She usually said, 'You could do better if...' which I am forever grateful that she never said, 'You did badly.' The thing is, she never criticized.
Eva is a friend who is prepared to do anything for me even when it meant that it'd trouble her a great deal. She accompanied me to debate meetings when I was not too keen to meet the Dark Queen, for moral support. For that I am willing to do anything for her too. Except lie to her mother.
In return, I tried to do everything that she did first. I respect her a great deal. I never criticize her in return, even when I disagreed totally & completely with her. I cancelled any other appointments / plans if she said she needed me. We could sit perched on the bridge watching the fishes in the lake in silence for hours without getting bored. I was always careful to not say or do anything to hurt her. She is willing to give me as much space as I need, and so would I unto her.
With a companion like Eva, I could stay in the bottomest of bottom pits, and not get bored. Because we could dream and talk about our dreams, and we will be there to comfort each other. We will be creating our own worlds from the bottomest of pits, and laughing about the outrageous-ness of it. We will not talk about reality which hurt us, but discuss about the imagination which lulls us & make us forget that we are suffering.
With a companion like Eva, every day would be a different day. Perhaps because her name itself implied the reason of her existence (Eva, from 'Eve', the one God created to be Adam's companion).
Kinda miss her right now.
