Lent 2026 · Day 26: The Ones Who Stay... Stay Gold

I’ve been missing my friend Kimi Serrano in California.

We talk on the phone as often as we can because she’s one of the few people who refuses to go back and forth on text. And honestly, I respect that. Some conversations deserve voice. Tone. Presence.

We’ve known each other for over 25 years.

That means she’s seen every version of me, from my mid-20s to now. She knows my flaws, my strengths, my stubbornness, and my growth.

And she’s still here.

That means something.

We’ve had adventures, laughs, highs, lows, and probably a few moments where we drove each other completely insane. She could tell you exactly how I’ve changed over the years. But more importantly, she could tell you how I haven’t.

She has been a witness to my life.

My successes.

My losses.

My terrible decisions.

Especially my terrible decisions.

There was a moment after my third (technically my 4th) girlfriend was still fvcking with me. Kimi looked at me and said, “What do you need me to do to make you see how terrible she is?”

And I said, “I don’t know… shake me?”

So she did.

And we laughed.

But the truth is, it worked.

Because sometimes you don’t realize your choices are hurting you until you see how they’re affecting the people who love you. The ones who are stuck watching you go in circles, wanting better for you than you’re choosing for yourself.

Kimi has always been that person for me.

She tells me the truth about myself. That I’m the dumbest smart person she knows. That it still surprises her how much I’ve dated, considering how avoidant I am when it comes to dating.

And she’s not wrong.

Sometimes you need someone who can mirror your ridiculousness. Keep you humble. And at the same time believe in you so deeply it feels like oxygen.

She’s been there through everything.

The deaths of friends.

The loss of our parents.

The end of relationships.

She was the first person I told when I was thinking about taking the LSAT and applying to law school.

She didn’t hesitate. “Good. I’m glad you’re finally doing something for yourself.” No doubt. No hesitation. No questioning whether I could do it.

That kind of belief?

It heals something in you.

For some reason, all of this made me think about an old Tom Hanks movie, "The Man with One Red Shoe." It’s an 80s comedy built on mistaken identity, bad assumptions, and pure chaos. A simple misunderstanding turns into something way bigger than it should have been.

Peak 80s camp.

The kind that reminds me of the simple, slightly unhinged adventures of our childhood.

Kimi and I grew up in the same era, just in different parts of California, her in San Diego, me in the Bay Area. We were those kids riding bike until the streetlights came on.

Drinking hose water.

Figuring things out in real time.

Trying not to get caught doing something we absolutely should not have been doing.

Because if our parents found out?

They would kill us.

Bring us back to life.

And then kill us again.

She was raised by an immigrant mother from Japan.

I was raised in an immigrant Filipino household.

We talk about trying to recreate the meals our moms cooked growing up. And how it never quite tastes the same.

Because it’s not just about getting the ingredients right. It’s the absence of our mothers in it. That’s what’s missing. And still, we keep cooking those dishes anyway. Trying to stay close to the memory. Trying to get just a little bit of it back.

I always laugh when Kimi tells the story about asking her mom for a recipe. It drove her crazy. Her mom would just say, “A little bit of this, a little bit of that… I don’t measure.” Yeah. You season until the ancestors tell you to stop.

I watched my mom cook the same way. No measuring cups. No spoons. Just instinct. Muscle memory passed down through generations. Recipes carried by ancestors. Adapted with whatever ingredients were available at the international market down the street.

We both had complicated relationships with our parents. But we came out of it with similar values, similar morals, and a shared understanding of loyalty.

The lesbro code is real.

I remember once, I was already in a relationship with someone, and we ran into a woman I had an… let’s call it complicated history with.

Later, Kimi asked me if it would be okay if she asked her out. Not because she needed permission. But because she cared about me. She wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything unresolved. That it wouldn’t create friction between us.

And that’s the difference.

It wasn’t about ownership.

It was about respect.

Honestly, if more people communicated like that, there would be way less messy queer drama.

And then there’s this whole other conversation happening in the world right now. You’ve got these red-pill podcast guys running around saying you need to be toxic, emotionally unavailable, and disconnected to be a “real man.”

Which is wild. Because masculinity, real masculinity, doesn’t have to be toxic to be powerful. Power doesn’t have to be loud.

Sometimes it’s quiet.

Respectful.

Grounded.

I’ve never wanted to be a man. I like the body I’m in. But I do express myself in ways that people read as masculine.

Probably because I grew up wearing my brother’s hand-me-downs. They just fit better. My sister was skinny as a child, I was not. And somewhere along the way, I kept what felt right and let go of what didn’t.

That’s all any of us are really doing. Curating ourselves. Keeping the parts that feel like truth. Letting go of the parts that don’t.

But we’re living in a time where instead of questioning systems, patriarchy, capitalism, all of it, we’re blaming individuals. Men blaming women for the “male loneliness epidemic” instead of looking at the systems that taught them not to feel, not to connect, not to be vulnerable.

Blaming people with less power instead of questioning the structure itself.

It’s exhausting.

And honestly?

It’s lazy.

But back to friendship. Because that’s the part that matters. What I have with Kimi is something I will never be able to replicate.

And I don’t want to.

Not every relationship is meant to be duplicated.

But what I do believe is this, there is nothing wrong with having high standards for the people you let into your life.

You don’t need people who envy you.

Or resent you.

Or try to make you smaller so they can feel bigger.

You need people who see you.

Who tell you the truth.

Who let you be exactly who you are, and still choose to stay.

What I love about Kimi is that she has always loved me without trying to control me.

She has believed in me.

Trusted me.

Let me live my life, even when it was messy.

And yeah… there have been some very cringey moments.

But she stayed anyway.

That kind of loyalty?

It’s rare.

Everyone deserves a friend like that. A friend who has your best interest at heart.

Kimi, thank you.

For all of it.

You’re the best.

Lenten Reflection: Two Are Better Than One (Sometimes)

“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.” — Ecclesiastes 4:9–10

Not everyone is meant to stay in your life forever.

But some people do.

And those are the ones who remind you who you are when you forget.

Who tell you the truth when you don’t want to hear it.

Who love you enough to stay, but not so blindly that they let you lose yourself.

Pay attention to those people.

Be that person for someone else.

Because in a world that constantly pulls us apart, real connections, honest, loyal, grounded connections are sacred. And worth holding onto.

Take care of yourselves.

Take care of each other.

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