at 29 or the end of it,

you realize your real best friend is the one whose younger sister you’ve known since she was 11.

she is the one who will pick up your dog’s anti-scab vet shampoo when you are too busy to do so.

the one who asked about your past during your supposed happy present.

the one who talks about 10 years ago as clearly as she can in your joint memory.

the one who recognized the raise in your eye brows when you realize 2 jugs or more is not enough in a working man’s day.

the one who doesn’t judge in you in all your drunken despair and your memories of glory’s past.

the one who recognizes you are the point break between puking into the toilet bowl  or getting drunk just immersing into reality.

the one who remembers your innocence and your naivety and recognized that you have carried into your late twenties, without a hint of cynicism or bitching to someone else about all your shit.

the one whom you can be two or three weeks without, and still feel you have never left that person or feel like she has left you.

the one who doesn’t care if you have put on a pound or two, or investigate into the pound or two you’ve lost without coming up with a big theory about depression or weight loss pills.

the one who acknowledges your love for music in one genre while respecting her own love for another genre, without judging too much. and somehow there is organic assimilation.  same goes for movies.

the one whom you thought ten years ago was vastly different, yet somehow along the twenties, realize, pain is but a human process.  no matter now different we were, growing pains were but a part of a growing process, it’s organic.

the one who doesn’t really like the live band places you like, but make an effort to come.  the one whom you would brave discos for.

happy anniversary, miss kwek.  happy 11 years.