The sky is a cerulean blue, the birds are singing wildly and the clouds are stolen from a picture book I “read” last night. Wow. I’m already in kindergarten. My unblinking 5-year-old eyes take in the enormous playground before me, peppered with children I would grow up with over the next 13 years of my life. A girl with a golden bob catches my attention. She is sitting alone on the outskirts of the playground, playing with the tanbark. I go over to join her and say hi. Once she says hi back, we are automatically best friends (a heavily weighted term to 5-year-old Nylah.)

Over the course of elementary school, we grew closer while our families did too. Our moms and dads befriended one another, and we fought with each other’s siblings like we fought with our own. We caused mayhem together, got scolded together and performed numerous awful dance routines in our living rooms together. We spent holidays together too, but the most special celebration was our birthdays; since they fell just 11 days apart, we built a tradition of celebrating them together with a combined party. Even when she was facetiming her family’s new au pair, a stay-at-home nanny, for the first time, I was there. She was my second family and I was hers.

Although we’d been so close since we were 5 years old, we were polar opposites when it came to our personalities. My best friend was an extroverted, funny, life-of-the-party elementary schooler — everyone was enticed by her jokes (for good reason) — while I was a wallflower: an introverted, more serious elementary schooler. Across the early years of our friendship, we rubbed off on each other significantly to create more balanced aspects of our personalities.  

When her mom was sick, my best friend came to live with my family and I for a few days. It never felt like a big ask, just a normal thing. In my eyes, the first day just seemed like a playdate and then slowly it became more routine. It was like we were having another sleepover, but in the midst of a scary time. Although I could only barely imagine what she was going through, surprisingly, we wouldn’t talk about emotions. We just understood that this was a difficult time and all I wanted was to be there for her the absolute most I could. She and our family’s relationships were my whole life. They defined me in more ways than one; without her, I didn’t have any idea as to who I was. It was evident in simple tasks like choosing a partner in class or knowing someone would wait for me to tie my shoe. I loved having someone who knew me like no other and a guaranteed partner for every school assignment.

Organically, in eighth grade, my best friend and I drifted apart. There was a significant difference from how our relationship used to be, not emotionally, but in a way where we let each other grow and discover ourselves outside each other a little more. We would no longer be together every waking minute of every day. We weren’t going on road trips together and were more busy with school. We were exploring other friendships, so we weren’t defined by each other anymore. But, all of a sudden I kept wondering, since when were we not best friends? There was an unsettling oddness that came from looking across the field during fifth period P.E. and knowing that we weren’t growing parallel anymore, but in slightly different directions. Naturally, I grew closer to other people through sports, classes and other extracurriculars and so did she, but I still found myself missing how things used to be.  

After we spent time discovering more of ourselves on our own, we came back to each other from time to time and it felt like we picked up right where we left off. It felt strange at first; was I allowed to call her my best friend still? But after some time, we established that while it wasn’t difficult to feel close again, it was a different kind of close. In fact, it was even more precious when we would hang out together since it was less frequent. Rather than feeling like I needed her to complete me, I wanted to have her in my life just because she held an irreplaceable role in it. Growing close again in this new, matured way proved that the bond we formed as kindergarteners is and always will be unparalleled.

As we independently discovered our individuality, I reflected on the significant impact she had on me — one that made me who I am today. Through her, I learned compassion, perspective and what it feels like to be truly known. She set the tone for the rest of the relationships that would form over the course of my life. Because of my best friend, I have a high standard of friendship as a result of her unconditional love and trust. I appreciate being her rock and fulfilling the role of being someone she could confide in. A mosaic of those small moments of wanting to be there for her taught me about myself and who I wanted to be — always able to sacrifice my favorite pillow for the night if a friend needs it. Many parts of me will always belong to my childhood best friend and our relationship, and that’s a privilege.

As we played in the tanbark on that first day of kindergarten, I was just starting to build myself, and my best friend and that moment were the instigators. Our connection and affection for each other was immediately strong — even before we had words for it.