#friiendship

She didn’t exactly look like the woman in the picture that was given to him.  But she looked close enough to it.  Limbs then began to stretch out just to loosen himself up before anything serious actually began.  For the time being, he’d stick to the shadows...keeping his hood over his head just so he could follow from behind.    

“Yo, its me...”  Speaking into the communicator in his ear to his team on the other end.  “I see the woman, sure this old lady is gonna be good for the crew? …Alright, if you say so.”  From the info that was given to him, all he knew was that she was a strong one, had years of experience, and was apparently royalty.

“Swear, this junk better be worth it”

May mga bagay na ginagawa mo dahil gusto mo. Hindi dahil kailangan mong gawin, pero ginagawa mo kasi malabitukang manok ang utak mo sa pagkaweird kaya nagagawa mo pa rin. :) I love it better now. But I miss those four corners and paper loads. And I miss Camille. 😐😟 Salamat sa pagtawag kanina, I love youuu 😜 hahaha magkita na tayo please.

Indian women are some of the most inspirational, intriguing women I’ve ever acquainted myself with. Clearly I’m just making blatant generalizations, but everything I’m about to argue is positive and complimentary (hopefully).  My inclination to share my opinion of Indian women started (as it usually does) with a scene from a move: Eat Pray Love. The delightfully charming and equally strong protagonist, Liz, is living in Ashram in India, scrubbing the floors of her worship and meal space in return for living accommodations. When performing this monotonous task, a young Indian girl makes an innocent joke about skinny Indian boys to Liz. They both laugh and talk their way into a full on four-month friendship rooted in love and prayer.  This 17-year-old Indian girl was overly friendly, outgoing, witty, and sensitive. This jogged many emotions in me.

When I awoke in my Western-styled hotel in Mumbai, India in January I was expecting the exact opposite of Indian women. As many people are aware, India isn’t the nicest, cleanliest, friendliest country of the bunch. My purpose for being in India was strictly to immerse myself in culture and to eat as much chicken tikka masala as my stomach could handle (trust me, I checked that one off the list). What took me by surprise was the women, or rather, twenty-something college girls. I instantly bonded with all of the Indian girls in my class for those 10 days, even more so than I did with the European or South African girls also traveling with us. Aside from the fact that these Indian women are all individually overwhelmingly smarter than my whole friend group combined, these girls were just like me. Actually, my friendship with these women grew deeper and faster with more ease than any of my American friendships had (this was a blessing for me then because I tend to lack in the girlfriend department). The first day I met an Indian woman named Abisha. I can’t quite remember what exact question she asked me as we were walking down a noisy side street of Mumbai to go to dinner, but it went something like this:

Abisha: “So, Emily, do you like reading magazines?” (It still strikes me how random this question actually was…and still is)

Me: “Yes! I’ve actually started reading this online magazine called ‘Relevant.’ It’s a Christian…” (I was stumbling over my words, worried that the word “Christian” may pose an issue)

before I can finish my sentence

Abisa: “OH MY GOODNESS. I LOVE RELEVANT. I READ IT EVERY DAY….so you’re a Christian?”

And henceforth, a beautiful friendship emerged. For the rest of the evening we talked about God, family, faith, and most importantly, chastity. How cool. I was across the country in a city of Hindu or even nonreligious people, and I met a devout Christian girlfriend. I was simply stunned.

Needless to say, the next day, on our daylong bus tour of rural Indian villages, our topics of conversation included her boyfriend, my shambles of a love life, and Benedict Cumberbatch (apparently, all Indian girls think he’s to-die-for).

My other girlfriend, Ruth, is a flirtatious and fun bundle of joy. We actually met over Facebook before I arrived in Mumbai. She had posted a beautiful picture of herself wearing traditional Indian garb and I noticed that my best friend’s closest friend had “liked” it, so naturally, I messaged Ruth with this surprising connection. When we met in person, she told me that our mutual friend had visited Ruth’s college while on a mission trip a few years ago and our mutual friend and Ruth still keep in touch. Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva, and Ganesha must have been pleased with me while in Mumbai, for Ruth and I were continuously put in the same work group and thrown into the same activities. Her mother and sister would cook me delicious dinner night after night, where food was followed by Ruth’s performances of the salsa dancing she learned growing up, our German friend Elli’s demonstration of German drinking songs and accompanying dances (what can I say, she fit the stereotype…and we’re all thinking it), and I would close off the night with a performance of my Bollywood fusion moves (yes, I was on a Bollywood fusion dance team at the beginning of the year). Every night was a negligence of schoolwork and a jovial celebration of friendship and food. The lasting memory I have our friendship continues to be a conversation Ruth and I had in the back of a classroom during a (Mumbai environmental science lecture?).

Elli, the German, passes us gummy bears discretely, while I, the American, share my Goldfish with the girls, and Ruth, the Indian, shares these tasty cookie-biscuits from the cafeteria to snack on (or keep us awake)

Ruth and I just finish chatting about the cute French exchange student we had just passed in the cafeteria. Giggles, smiles, and flirtatious winks included.

Me: “Ruth, having a crush on that white French guy isn’t embarrassing at all. Do you want to know something embarrassing?”

Ruth: “Duh.”

Me: “Everywhere I go I keep my ‘lucky chap stick’ with me. The thing is-it’s not actually lucky. Nothing has ever happened to me when I wear it. I just wear it on special occasions in hopes that something lucky (like a cute boy kissing me) might actually happen.”

Ruth: “Oh Em, that’s not embarrassing…I have a lucky chap stick too.” And her voice trails off in thought…

Me: “Oh that’s funny. Mine is Blistex. It’s Rasber…

Ruth: “RASBERRY LEMONADE BY BLISTEX. THAT’S MY LUCKY CHAP STICK TOO.”

And there it is, friends. It’s the simple moments that create the bet bonds. If anyone was wondering, the lucky chap stick still hasn’t proven itself to either one of us since that incident.