I’ve been in one long distance relationship. It was 2010, I was a first year at university and his name was Andrew.
Well, his name is still Andrew but I’m sure you can tell by my liberal use of the past tense that it didn’t work out.
Now, I’m not sure whether that can be chalked up to the distance or the toxicity of the relationship itself or a combination of both, but I’ve never really been keen to give long distance another shot.
Until now, that is.
Because, see, now… I don’t have a choice.
Six months ago, my Best Friend up and left me.
Granted, it wasn’t exactly like he chose to be from another country and it’s nowhere as dramatic as I make it sound, but he moved back home, which happens to be 1907km away from me.
And well… It sucks.
Long distance isn’t exactly new to us, though.
We survived three months of WhatsApp conversations and the occasional email when he went to Finland during our third year of university, but back then it was different.
Not only because we knew he’d be coming back to Windhoek at some point, but also because we knew, with certainty, that we’d live in the same city again when he did.
Now we’re not so sure.
It’s been six months since we’ve called the same city home and even though we saw each other in April for his graduation, I can’t say the long distance thing gets any easier.
I’ve always been used to doing things on my own.
I go to bookstores alone, I have lunch alone, I hang out alone. I’m cool with being alone. I love my own company and it takes a lot for me to feel lonely.
The only thing I like more than being alone is being with my Best Friend.
That’s the kind of friendship we have.
The kind where he feels like an extension of me and now that he’s not here… I can’t help but feel like there’s a part of me missing.
A part of me is missing and there’s nothing I can do about it.
What’s worse is there’s nothing I can do when he shares bad news with me. I can’t hug him, I can’t cook him lunch, I can’t buy him books to make him feel better. All I can do is send “I’m here for you”, “I care”, “I love you” WhatsApps like I’m the modern-day Captain Obvious.
I miss my Partner in Crime, my homie, my voice of reason, and no amount of WhatsApp messages or long-winded emails can change that.
The only thing that can? A hug from a skinny Zambian dude with an commendable amount of patience when dealing with a loud, weird but wondrous writing woman who can often be seen sporting a mess of curls.
As such, I will be accepting early birthday gifts in form of airfare to Lusaka.
I’m kidding. Or am I?
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