The life of a friend

When it started: one day after my birthday.

When it ended: twelve years and (basically) 266 days after that birthday. Nine days before my birthday.

Pinga and I met 13 years ago. He was a slightly over confident dude who didn’t care how ruthlessly his friends chided him and teased him about his race or his mild self-importance. He loved his friends and didn’t mind that they took his shirt, soaked it water, and proceeded to put it in the freezer overnight. Nearly 40-year olds are basically aged children.

I was in full on rebound mode. Heartbroken and looking for “stability”, I thought Pinga’s ease and confidence was exactly what I needed. He was thoughtful and kind and made me laugh. He cared! Not just about me, but about every single one of his friends. He laughed at himself. And at us.

So we dated. 3 whole months. And when I told him that we could only be friends (rebound dating, I quickly learned, shouldn’t be about finding the polar opposite), just before the holidays, he stepped up and became one of my very best friends.

That Christmas, he gave me a starfish Tiffany’s bracelet. I refused. He demanded. It wasn’t about the cost, it was about the value. And he knew how much starfish meant to me. I will cherish that bracelet for the rest of my life. {thank you, Pinga Ling}

There are so many best friends memories in the intervening years. Trips. Disagreements. Drunken friends lost in The City requiring the two of us to become parents of an adult for the night, Glade at Dolce Leche, unintentional twinning, food, Bloody Mary’s, Asian squats, Hotel Phan, dating, snoring, breakups, Vegas Vegas Vegas, birthdays, holidays, bucket lists, neighbors. In no particular order.

And then, both suddenly and subtly, life happened.

Two and a half years of relative silence. Always in the background of my mind. Instagram posts. Facebook likes. Distance. New relationships. Marriage.

Then the call. I cannot yet wrap my mind around the fact that he’s gone. It doesn’t resonate. It doesn’t make sense. It isn’t ok. I’m not ok. He was my brother. My Asian brother. Banana, Twinkie. My Phan.

I don’t know how to say goodbye. Or, do I refuse?

Suddenly and abruptly, death happened.