Ghana are winning, but…

by Eman

she looks like you too

So I’m busy working up a sweat on the farm, harvesting the crop and plowing the earth, tending to the animals and er.. yodelling. On my farm. On farmville. I take it very seriously.

So I was doing all that finger breaking labor when someone (who shall not be named for I fear an angry mob will huddle around her in protest of what she’s made me do),  when someone told me to get the fudge off my butt and do something useful with my life, or something like that – I’m paraphrasing. Apparently that something was blogging. (It was Haya btw get your pitchforks ready)

I was looking through my old files from high school when I found one of those old MySpace bulletin things that my friend absolutely loved to do. She’d send me 5 a day and insist that I fill them out and post them immediately, it was supremely annoying but it gave me a chance to talk about myself without seeming like a pterodactyl and I think she knew that. They were also a continuous reminder that her life was exponentially better than mine but I could never hate her for that like I would have hated anyone else. She was one of the sweetest people in this godforsaken world, to the point of being extremely naive. She honestly thought that there was goodness everywhere and for some reason she’d always find it and I’d always be blind to it. That was our dichotomy; she saw the light, sparkles and rainbows while I saw the dementors and ashtrays. And yet, being the sulky queen of darkness (people actually called me that) that I was she seemed to find some sort of hidden light within me and she managed to bring it out. I have never thanked her for that and, alas, I never will. But I think she knew I was grateful, at least that’s what I tell myself. For even though people saw her as being dumb she was incredibly perceptive. She would sense what was wrong with you before you even realize something was wrong and she’d wrap some gauze around your heart and kiss it better. She was honest about everything as well and I think that’s what I miss the most. She never told me what I wanted to hear and she was always upfront even if it meant I’d make a scene. I don’t think I’m sad because she’s gone rather than because there were so many people that never had the privilege to meet her. Because people leave us as suddenly as they come and they will always leave too soon, they will always die too young. I don’t think anyone really dies, only our bodies decay and our memories and names live on in the people we loved. My friend lives on too, her strength, optimism and love for life inspires me and the light she found, that little flicker that was on the verge of dying out, still shines because of her. One day I’ll tell her story but it’s too soon.

I need to fix some leaky pipes and unclog another. Until we meet again.

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