The second day of my second trip to Haiti, I was sauntering upstairs, searching through my disheveled backpack, hoping to find a tank top that I had seemingly forgotten to pack. Mid rummage, I looked up as a girl walked by.
"Hi, I'm Kiah, I'm Corey's sister."
I introduced myself in return, conceited my tank top hunt and went downstairs for breakfast. Kiah came down shortly after and we conversed while dousing our eggs in ketchup. As we shared stories, I felt connected to Kiah, as if our first meeting as a reunion of longtime friends.
The week I was in Haiti, Kiah and I were near inseparable. When traveling, her and I would scrunch into the very back of the Ford Explorer, giggling like little middle school girls at a sleepover. During the day, we wrangled community kids to play sports or make crafts. At night, we'd walk to the store by ourselves and attempt to order beer or juice in our (very) limited Creole. I acted with Kiah as I act with my closest friends, the ones I grew up with. There are few people that I'm vulnerable with, but immediately, Kiah was one of those people.
Recently, I was jumbling some internal conflicts around my head. When I couldn't draw any summative conclusions, I sent Kiah a grossly long e-mail. Less than an hour later, she responded with one equally as long. We've spent a week of our lives together, but I feel as if Kiah is a dear friend.
Kiah taught me that loving is being open, open to the instant friendships that the Universe has destined for us.
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