Not feeling much like writing this morning. Yesterday I learned that my friend killed himself.

So mostly what I’m feeling like is crying and staring at the wall.

But at the same time needing to write something, because writing has been my comfort at so many points in my life.

And because my friend was the one who always kept nudging me to make peace with that.

In fact, at a time in my life when I was far too insecure about my writing to even hint at its existence to almost anyone, he would regularly introduce me to people as “My friend, the amazing writer”.

Can’t say anything amazing at the moment unfortunately, but something wants to be said.

Because sometimes it hurts too much to talk about it.

This is, oh I don’t know, seven or eight years ago already. I was going through a tough time. My friend was going through a tough time.

We took off work one day and walked to the beach in the rain. We looked at the Mediterranean for a while.

And he said something like wouldn’t it be great if there was a way to just shut off sometimes when you needed a break.

You’d get this reprieve. A little respite from your pain. You’d get, say, one day where yeah, everything would still suck, but it just wouldn’t bother you so much and you could just go and eat borekas and not think about how hard it all was.

For some reason, the instant mental image cracked us both up.

And so International Borekas and Repression Day was born. It sounds funnier in Hebrew, probably. At any rate, it cheered us to no end.

Because it’s the thing you do when you don’t know what to do.

The first International Borekas and Repression Day took place that very day.

But pretty soon it became clear that once a year wasn’t going to be enough. We couldn’t just wait around for the whatever of November to roll by.

No, the great thing about International Borekas and Repression Day is that it’s always there for you when you need it, and all you have to do is call it into being.

Not that we did. Well, at least not all that often. But now and then one of us would decide that the time had come. And the other would concur.

And then we’d get borekas from this place in Florentin that was exactly halfway between my apartment and where his grandparents used to live.

Spinach and mushroom.

Unfortunately there aren’t any words to describe how unbelievable these borekas were. The way there aren’t any words to describe pretty much anything right now.

But trust me, there could not be a more perfect comfort food. And there could not be a better way to spend an afternoon.

Because you are always loved.

To the mysterious forces (or not, whatever) responsible for playing my friend’s two favorite songs, one after the other, really really loud, in the cafe I was sitting in right when I heard the news, thank you. That was sweet.

And to my friend, who would be happy to know that I now publicly use written words as my go-to therapy, I don’t know how to make peace with this yet or with your pain but I love you so much.

And to myself, I don’t know how to make peace with this yet or with your pain but I love you so much.

And for everyone else, I hereby proclaim today to be an official IBARD. Go get yourself some borekas.

The Fluent Self