When I was younger, friendships were a factor of proximity. In first grade, I was seated across from little Megan. She had gold blond hair that curled at the bottom while I had brown straight hair that was always held up in two ponytails, referred to as Tala’s antennas. We exchanged stickers, play dates followed suit and soon all my lunches were by her side.

But as I’ve grown my 31 years older, with proximity still a convenient factor, it’s now shared interest that string me along to start sharing, stickers no more, but my thoughts.

She picks me up when it’s still cool outside, ideas wind through our thoughts as we casually spiral though the inside roads of Jumeirah.

We stop for some juice, my head hangs from the car window and my hair trickles down the side of the door.

“My photography.” I say as my hand drops lifeless to my lap.

“Yes?” she says with one brow raised.

“Sometimes, I feel like, I could just be doing something, something more, or something better...” I say as I trail off.

She hands me my juice cup, the ice wobbles and makes that sound. “Tala,” She says, “Have your grapefruit juice.” And smiles.

“You’re right I say.” I take a sip of my juice and wobble my ice and smile.

Consolations in the form of a book swiped atop my head. Arguments on why I’m too forgiving of certain people. Reconciliations in coffee shops that start with single words tossed to and fro and end in engulfed chit chat on news that as been missed. And loathsome truths that must be shared for the better of.

It’s this friction of interactions that make their presence, but more so their absence, felt, like I’ve been stained by the friendship. Rub till I can’t rub no more, but there the stain is.

Like blue berries in a white bowl, we start with friends, nestled side-by-side rolling over and under each other together but sovereign. As time passes some berries are set aside for pancakes, others for muffins and the best for blue berry pie.

The dough is rolled out, set in the pie-pan, berries are dropped in, covered and placed into the preheated hot oven.  Minutes pass, the heat starts caramelising the sugar and the blue berries start to stir until they burst open.

I hope you find those blue berries that stain you, the tips of your finger and the tops of your tongue because it’s those critical people that help make your success in marriage, business, passions and in you come true.

For the most perfect blue berry pie recipe , have a look at Lady and Pups.

 http://ladyandpups.com/2016/09/07/sichuan-peppercorn-blueberry-oatmeal-pie/

Location: United Arab Emirates