Last night I had the strangest dream. I was back on the kibbutz, lying in bed with you… We lay there laughing and talking. We had been lying there for weeks, maybe months, and neither of us felt any urge to get up. It suddenly occurred to me that there was something on my right ankle or just above it. I looked down to find that my skin had folded over and made a crease because I had been lying down for so long. When I straightened my leg and the crease of skin ironed out there was a huge, perfectly circular hole in my leg. The skin had been torn and all the flesh eaten away at. I stared at the hole, intrigued by its precise hollowness. I realised it had all started from something beautiful. A beautiful butterfly had flown into the room and found a spot on my leg just above my ankle bone. Somehow, as I was lying on the bed, it became trapped. As weeks passed by and the skin folded over it, the butterfly began eating away at my flesh. Now all that remained was the hole. You assured me that once I stood up and started to move again the skin would grow back and the hole would fill in. But neither of us wanted to get up. As I noticed the hole in more detail I became more fascinated by it.

Complacency is a dangerous friend to have. In its safe familiarity it offers comfort and warmth, yet invite it in and it will not get up from your couch. Offer it a drink and it will invariably overstay its welcome. It often comes disguised as the exact thing you had been searching for so long; your chance to escape vanishing before your eyes once you recognise it for the exact thing you had been trying so hard to avoid. Two people meet and in the flash of that instant their lives change forever. They lock hearts and minds, often through no choice of their own, and a chain of events is suddenly set in motion. There is no way of knowing how bad this choice of friendship will be in years to come. There is no way of foretelling how badly they will hurt one another; how desperate they will become to rid each other of their own memory. The dangerous complacency will set in amongst them both and for a period of time, perhaps even years, none will be the wiser. Until the day comes when they find themselves filled with such hate they will be unrecognisable to others.

Tami and I never actually met officially. We were born in the same year on the same kibbutz in the northern part of Israel, where the Sea of Galilee meets the Jezriel Valley. Our parents had arrived at the kibbutz within years of each other, from South Africa. Unaware of each other’s existence in South Africa, once they were acquainted in Israel our two families connected instantly and became close friends, offering each other support and comfort during the initial difficult years of settling into a new environment. Tami and I were born within months of each other. For years I was fed stories of how we quickly became inseparable once we reached the age where we began noticing existence of life beyond our own mothers. There are countless snaps of memories to prove this fact. Starting from the day I rolled over onto her, followed by the glints of smiles our parents wore as we both rose from the floor. Tami and Tali. Sure to be friends for life, if only because their names both began and ended with the same letters.

Convenience is another silent killer. It creeps up on you even when you’re wide awake and aware. You realise that the only reason you accept its invitation is easiness, and laziness, and you convince yourself there’s nothing wrong with that. Why should we make life more difficult for ourselves? Why should we always be looking for the harder, less travelled path? How many people seem to walk through life unconsciously, with their eyes half closed, somehow always seemingly making it through to the other side with painless ease and grace? Why, god dammit, can’t you be one of those people just for once, you ask yourself.

Mum was never really a good judge of anything. Of course I only learnt this gradually and only decided to embrace it as an adult. During my childhood it was a flaw that I often found myself making excuses for. I grew up feeling sorry for my mum. I felt bad that she had left her own family behind to come to Israel and make a new start with dad. I felt bad that she had left all her childhood friends and memories and start again. I felt bad that at the age of 23 she had to learn a new language for the first time in her life. I felt bad that she always talked about what was missing; what had been taken from her – the incredible life she had left behind filled with riches, comfort, good friends and expensive clothes. So I guess my compensation was myself. I put myself after everything; her, her needs, her grudges, her guilt. I learnt to hide in shadows from a young age. I sat behind, I stayed behind, I kept quiet. I became a really good listener as a result. Nodding was a refined practice of mine. I agreed to everything because the alternative was to cause her even more sorrow. Tami was one of the things I never questioned. As I ensconced myself in her shadow, my friendship with Tami solidified mum’s friendship with her parents and thereby gave her security in return. The kibbutz was the kind of place that looked wonderful and warm from the outside in. Once you stepped inside and noticed all the cracks and dysfunction, you realised quickly that to resist it was futile. In order to deal with the daily dose of mad normality you needed good friends around you constantly. Often this meant hiding in each other’s shadows as you walked around.

Acceptance is the third in a line of evil friends to have. It’s the hardest one to befriend because it signals the end of independence. It’s also the hardest one to resist. It flirts with you as it shows you how easy it can be. It plays with your head as it parades past taunting you with things you could have or could be or could do. And as it goes by it bulldozes the path less travelled that you look onto as you realise your time has passed. It dazzles you with materials and fools you with glittery visions of how life should be. And as it takes its final bow the door bangs shut and you are stuck there. All you have in front of you is a mirror with you as reflection, taking your final bow. It is only when the pain becomes too much to bear; when the longing for yourself and what you used to look like becomes so overwhelming; when the hurt has stung a hole so deep it touches the edges of love slightly enough for a spark to trigger inside and a memory of what love once felt like that you will finally get up and do anything in your power to kick your new friends out. All three of them.

You many wonder why I’ve chosen to tell you this now. You may think it unfair or biased or even immature of me to reveal these inner thoughts of mine at this particular juncture in time. And it’s unfortunate that life made us meet now and not at some other more suitable point. But as I’ve passed through various places I’ve slowly realised that not everyone deserves a place in my heart. Not everyone gets to stay a while. Perhaps you didn’t expect to read it in a letter. Perhaps you were waiting for me to visit you in person and say it to your face. There is no way you could have known what the mention of her name does to my insides. I don’t blame you for a second nor do I think any less of you for it. What I need you to understand is that I cannot go back there, not ever again. It took me years and years to fill that hole. It took me hours of convincing myself that I would eventually be all right. It took me days and days to get up and walk again. It took so long before someone else stopped to ask if I was okay as I stumbled my way down the path. You were the first person I trusted again. You were the one whose rich soil lined the final surface of my wound before the skin grew back to conceal it. Although things didn’t work out for us romantically I treasure your friendship like the most precious stone. I will keep this stone close to my heart forever. Sometimes life does things to convince me that there is no such thing as a coincidence. I am at a solid place now and you have given me all that I need to take. Go to her and be happy, but I cannot come with.

Pearls are what you get from those who love you. So that you can take them and rub them until they shine. After you have treated every single one with the love you feel in return, use them to fill up your hole – hollow and eaten-through, raw and empty. And when it is full to the brim you will appreciate the strength you gained both from the gouge you received and the pearls you used to repair it. Last night I had a dream, but after writing you this letter I realise it wasn’t strange at all.