Philia

“Friend, one thing I love about you is…”

A phrase I had used more times than I can count, particularly in my recent trip back to eSwatini, the kingdom that welcomed me with open arms. Under a blend of strobing neon lights and the soothing tunes of the Bushfire festival, the phrase sifted into my vocabulary with ease, transforming the way I viewed my relationships with those around me.

Now, I know that introduction probably raised a few eyebrows, especially to anyone who was too busy chopping life alongside me to be having mid-festival epiphanies, but do hear me out. My time at Bushfire taught me so much, how phenomenal an artist Manana is, how much of a lightweight I am, how icecream can be ‘fried’ to perfection and…I digress. As I reminisce, my biggest takeaway from the festival seems to be my renewed understanding of what it means to love and be loved.

To me, love has always been one of those emotions I thought I had known: butterflies in your stomach, palpitations in your chest, the blurring of vision, you know, the works. And in turn, I thought to show love often required a grand gesture: a boombox outside a room, a bouquet of flowers, a tattoo etched onto skin, and many other wildly illustrious ideas so obviously manufactured by romcoms and Disney Channel feature films.

And although I have since grown to recognize familial love, storge, as explained in my Mother’s May post, Bush also reminded me that such a feeling can be extended to my friends, that they too can be a source of love. That weekend, I began to notice and appreciate all the little things: Good morning, I’m waiting for you, I dished breakfast for you , do you want some?, all acts and sayings that ooze love without actually uttering the word. These acts of kindness often took me by surprise, not particularly because it was my first time experiencing them but rather, because it was the first time I recognized them for what they truly were: pure expressions of love.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I have been blessed with so many lifelong friends over the years, those I could turn to, those I can call my own. But my encounters with my friends at Bushfire, meeting their families, learning more about them than what meets the eye, had allowed me to truly appreciate the grace they extended towards me.

I recently watched a video that joked how mothers (particularly African mothers) do not say “I love you” verbally, choosing rather to show it to you through acts of service (their subtle, more inconspicuous love language). According to the video, they would much rather just hint at it, the phrases “I’m going out, should I get something for you”, “Dinner is ready, I made your favourite", acting as their go-to’s.

And while I think it’s hilarious, my mother falling under this oddly specific generalisation, it is no doubt a testament to how powerful actions can be, their echoes resonating beyond those 3 pivotal words. Indeed, to provide, to share, to look out for someone, too can be a valid display of love.

“Friend, you know why I love you, because even if I need to grab something, you will literally stand outside, waiting for me.” I tell my friend Nokwanda, a truly effulgent ray of light.

For the first time, I learnt to tell my friends of how much and, even more importantly, why I loved them. I learnt to thank them for everything that they do, and everything that they are; to Tiyandza who held ‘no one gets left behind’ so close to her heart that she would look for anyone as soon as they were out of her sight, to Selwe who would be the first to pull out her phone and take a selfie, momentarily capturing life for what it truly is, to Andiswa who was never shy of clutching palms, sharing embraces, and indulging in moments together, and to so many people I reunited with that weekend, who demonstrated love in one way or the other. I learnt to acknowledge and appreciate this love in all its forms, and in turn, to reciprocate it when I too got the chance.

In a Christian Youth conference I recently attended, I heard a keynote by a psychologist who remarked that the ages 12-20 are often marked as a period of finding out who you are, whereas ages 20-30 is a time to find out who you love. And while I initially thought that to be a gross generalization, as a 19 year old there is still so much of myself I am yet to understand, I thought her statement was so powerful, that it often begins from an understanding of who you are, before progressing to who you love. It also made me realise it is actually very normal to have these sorts of questions and eventual realizations at my age; it is merely a part of growing up.

So as I too transition from one stage to the next, I realise it is truly the best time to understand love in all its complexities, from self, to familial, to philal and beyond. In burgeoning my definition of love, I hope to continue to recognise it, to be vocal about and thankful for it. That way, I too can be more aware and intentional with how I appreciate and, as in the words of “Yebba’s heartbreak”, show my love for those around me.