honesty like wind—
it stings, it chills, it clears paths
and still I thank it
—
We were both nine.
That brutal age when you’re still mostly soft but starting to grow sharp edges.
He lived one street over, in a row of cracked socialist blocks that looked exactly like mine.
We weren’t best friends because of some cosmic connection.
We were best friends because we had no choice.
The world was too small to be picky.
His name was Andrej.
He had short hair that always grew out unevenly and ears too big for his head.
He was the first person who told me I smelled bad.
“You smell like onion,” he said one day after school, without looking at me.
Just tossed the words like he was pointing out the weather.
Not cruel.
Just true.
I froze.
Then laughed.
Then went home and asked my mother if it was true.
She sniffed and gave a guilty smile.
That day, I started wearing deodorant.
And I never forgot it.
—
Brutal Honesty is a Kindness in Disguise
We went through many versions of ourselves together—
skateboarders, video gamers, ghost-hunters, and for a brief but serious period, ninja apprentices.
Through all of it, he never stopped being painfully, beautifully direct.
“Your drawing’s off. The arms are weird.”
“She doesn’t like you, you know?”
“Stop copying me. Just do your own thing.”
Every time it hurt, I knew it came from a place that didn’t need to lie to be liked.
He wasn’t trying to impress.
He was trying to tell the truth.
—
A Rare and Underrated Trait: Clarity
In a world where most people dress up their words,
serve compliments laced with obligation,
or go silent when things get uncomfortable—
a friend who tells you the truth is sacred.
- They anchor you.
- They hold up a mirror, even when it’s cracked.
- They love you without needing you to perform.
- They risk your discomfort to protect your growth.
These are not small things.
These are the foundations of real friendship.
—
We lost touch for a while—university, different countries, the slow drift that happens when nobody says anything for too long.
But once, when I was already living abroad, he messaged me.
Just five words:
“Still wearing onion deodorant?”
I laughed for five minutes straight.
Because nobody else could say that.
Nobody else would.
—
Wabi-Sabi and the Gift of Unpolished Friendship
Wabi-sabi teaches us that real beauty is not flawless.
It is cracked, raw, honest.
It does not flatter.
It reflects.
And the same is true for friendship.
Give me the friend who tells me I’m wrong.
The friend who says “You’re better than this.”
The one who doesn’t care how it lands—only that it’s real.
Because that kind of love, even if it bruises,
always heals stronger.
—
So if you’re lucky enough to have someone like that—
the one who says what they see,
who speaks even when silence is safer—
hold on.
That’s not rudeness.
That’s devotion.
That’s the onion-scented kind of loyalty that sticks to you
and makes you better,
year after year.
And if you ever find yourself being that kind of friend,
don’t hold back.
Say it.
Kindly, clearly, cleanly.
Because someone’s waiting to hear it.
And one day, they’ll write about you too.
life 
Leave a comment