Friend #31 - Parisa
A friend from French camp
The summer between eleventh and twelfth grade was one of the happiest times of my life.
I lived in a borough of Quebec called Jonquière with a hundred other teenagers in a college residence building. We were there to learn French.
My dad flew with me to Quebec City and then we drove two and a half hours so I could begin a five-week adventure in Jonquière. He cried when he dropped me off. It was my first time away from home. I cried too but through the emotions, I made the decision to stay in the lobby instead of going up to my room to clean my tears. I sat on the couch and asked a friendly-looking girl for the Wi-Fi password. Another girl joined us and soon nine of us were going to the mall. One of them was Parisa.
She was also from Richmond Hill, the same suburb outside of Toronto and we ended up in the same French class. Parisa has always been confident. Loud, proud, and fierce in her beliefs, she’s currently in her final year of medical school in Australia.
As teenagers, the summer we met was almost a right of passage. We explored the small town and talked about our futures—it was our first taste of independence. In the years that followed, Parisa and I remained close. Her mother always welcomed me into their home with an Iranian zeal.
It’s been four years since we’ve seen one another. Parisa picks me up and we drive to an Indian restaurant 30 minutes from my house.
“I’ll need you to give me a monologue of the last few years,” she says.
And I begin. I tell her about the jobs I’ve held. My time in Miami. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
“I support you in your rights and in your wrongs,” she tells me.
I’m glad to hear this. She explains that I know right from wrong and that sometimes we act uncharacteristically because we want to live a little and she is no stranger to that.
Parisa is in a new but thriving relationship with a medical student from France. They live together and he makes her croissants.
“I told my mom that the guy I’m with either has to be Persian or a doctor. I want him to understand at least one of those parts of my life,” she says.
We both agree that in dating it’s good to be logical to some extent. “Half of the story is in our head,” Parisa says referring to the way women often romanticize situations.
Still, I’m glad to have Parisa as a friend because she is never afraid of going after what she wants. Like me. She tells me about how she almost took a 14-hour flight from Sydney to Vancouver to meet a boy.
“Women are willing to do a lot for love,” I say.
The two of us reflect on the past. How time has gone by so quickly. How much we’ve matured.
When we met, nine years ago, I barely used social media. I had a Facebook account. A digital camera that my dad had lent me. I took three days to respond to a text message. Years later and I now rely on social media to keep in touch with so many of my friends. In July 2023, I’ll be going to Calgary for my friend Cynthia’s wedding. She was one of the girls I went to the mall with years earlier.
“A university degree, four books, and hundreds of articles and I still make mistakes when reading. You write to me "Good morning" and I read it as, "I love you".”
―Mahmoud Darwish
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Your friend shows wisdom uncharacteristic for her youth. I hope she and the Parisian doctor have a great life together. That quote by Darwish at the end of the article is very cool!