Comrades and Companions
reflective portraits of intimate friendships. written mostly in summer 2022
The word comrade expectedly has similar roots as camaraderie, and unexpectedly probably shares a root with کمرا / कमरा, the Urdu-Hindi word for ‘room’. The stiff, righteous, and revolutionary relationship with a comrade tangles itself etymologically with the sweet, comforting closeness of sharing a room.
—
When I went to university, my mom worried that I’d be alone when I’m sick or hurting. I am not. My friends have done everything from back massages during my period, to ‘headache-can-I-nap-in-your-room-before-my-commitments-tonight’, to agonizing over a splinter that took three people two hours to remove from my foot.
There is an intimacy to that. No sense of passion, nor beauty, you’re not your best self, you might not even be coherent. But there is vulnerability. And care, that wraps around you like a warm blanket, and stills the anxiety of your heart.
University felt like an especially empty place when I was sick or injured. Events went on, deadlines piled up. Having someone who was willing to put their busy schedule on pause for a few hours to make my unexpectedly paused condition more bearable was incredibly, incredibly comforting.
—
What is an intimate friendship? I asked my (former) housemates this question.
Sitting at opposite ends of the sofa as you talk, legs overlapping casually.
Staying up talking about something until you don’t know when words turned into mumbles and you fell asleep.
‘I think I need a hug. Would you like a hug?’ Hug.
“When I can be vulnerable in front of someone.”
Quietly standing next to someone who is sobbing, “I want to go home!” in the dingy concrete basement of an academic building because they learned that dental insurance is not covered in their student health plan and now they have to miss a few days of schoolwork to figure out treatment (yes, I’m still salty about that lack of coverage).
—
My roommate was teasing me the other day about my dreams. (It was my fault I told them about my dreams.) The memorable dreams are generally very simple, almost realistic. They involve a person, either a friend or a romantic interest, doing something small like making meaningful eye contact for about two seconds. Meaningful. Not even flirtatious, just a passing sense of understanding, where you both know you’re thinking the same thought for a tiny moment. I wake up with inexplicable warmth in my heart and a twinkle in my eye.
In the real world, conversant eyes have connotations, so I close mine and go to sleep.
—
My close friends have all seen me cry. It’s partially because I tear up really easily, in overflows of frustration or fear or even joy.
A while ago, I was long-distance-dating someone, and found myself turning off my camera when emotions turned into salty water. I thought later about why I didn’t want to cry in front of him, even though he was a ‘boyfriend.’ A part of it was just that we were still getting to know each other.
A related part was that I had rarely, if ever, seen him emotionally vulnerable in front of me, and I was trying to mirror that somehow, trying to spare him the burden of an intimate emotional connection — as perhaps he had tried to spare me.
It did not work out.
—
A com-pan-ion, etymologically, is just someone with whom you share bread. Seems more straightforward.
