Some friendships feel like plot twists—unexpected, dramatic, and completely transformative. My plot twist came in the form of Andrés, a tall, lanky kid with a perpetual smirk and an encyclopedic knowledge of Cuban baseball. He changed my life in ways I couldn’t have anticipated, and while this isn’t some rom-com story where friendship blossoms into romance (this isn’t When Harry Met Sally, people), it’s the tale of how true friendship can light a fire under you, especially when you’ve been stuck staring at the same dark cave walls.
The Miami Meltdown: Enter Andrés
I met Andrés during what I’ve since dubbed “The Great Miami Meltdown.” I’d just graduated from college and moved back into my parents’ home—a situation not uncommon for many first-gen kids. But I wasn’t thriving; I was marinating in existential dread. Days consisted of juggling part-time jobs while avoiding uncomfortable family dinners where my abuela wondered why I wasn’t married yet. (Her exact phrasing—“¿Y las novias? ¿Qué pasó?”—still echoes in my nightmares.)
In the middle of this quarter-life crisis, Andrés rolled into my life like a telenovela protagonist. We met at a mutual friend’s party, where he was loudly debating someone about who was the greatest shortstop in the history of Cuban baseball. Without missing a beat, he turned to me and asked, “What’s your take, man? Or are you one of those people who thinks baseball’s boring?”
I was shook for two reasons:
1. Who leads with insults at a party?
2. He wasn’t wrong—I did think baseball was boring.
Before I could stammer a response, Andrés cracked a joke at his own expense and dragged me into his debate anyway. Without realizing it, I was laughing for the first time in weeks. I also knew, in that moment, this guy was going to be trouble—the good kind.
The Lesson of Saying Yes
If you ever befriended someone whose energy feels like a Pixar movie on fast-forward, you understand what being friends with Andrés was like. “We’re going out,” he’d text at 10 PM, conveniently leaving out that “going out” might include karaoke or, inexplicably, salsa dancing with elderly strangers at Calle Ocho. His strategies for friendship were simple and unwavering:
1. Always show up. Andrés was relentless in unearthing people’s dreams, then holding them accountable for chasing them. Once, I mused off-handedly about writing a book, to which he responded, “Why haven’t you started?” It was like being grilled by a motivational speaker in a sleeveless Guayabera.
2. Get comfortable with failure. After a particularly awful karaoke duet of Total Eclipse of the Heart—honestly the worst 3 minutes of my life—he declared, “If you’re not failing at something, you’re not trying hard enough.” His failures, by his own admission, ranged from disastrous business ventures to misadventures in online dating. “But every flop is a clearance sale for the ego,” he said. “You learn, you get better, and you keep it moving.”
3. Say yes to weird opportunities. That salsa-dancing night I mentioned? It became an annual tradition, one that still makes me grin whenever I hear Celia Cruz. And when Andrés eventually dragged me to his weekly creative writing workshop—something I had been feeling too self-conscious to do on my own—it inadvertently jump-started the path to my writing career.
Friendship, Culture, and the Art of Risk
One of the most unspoken yet profound impacts Andrés had on me was helping me appreciate my own cultural story. He was unapologetically Cuban—accent dripping with lazy R’s, inserting coño into every sentence—and dared me to embrace my heritage in ways I hadn’t before.
“Bro, you’re telling these watered-down stories,” he said once, after reading one of my early drafts, where I was trying too hard to sound...well, not like me. “Where’s your voice? Where’s the abuela who makes arroz con pollo and listens to Celia Cruz on New Year’s Eve?”
I didn’t realize it at the time, but Andrés was pressing me, through our countless debates over cortaditos and pan Cubano, to stop conforming to what I thought was expected of me. He taught me that my lived experience wasn’t a footnote—it was central to every story I’d ever tell, romantic or otherwise.
“This applies to dating too, by the way,” he’d tease. “You keep presenting the Costco version of yourself. Why? You a wholesale warehouse dude?” (Reader, I did not appreciate this roast at the time. Now? It deserves a standing ovation.)
The Wake-Up Call
Of course, it wouldn’t be a life-changing story if it didn’t have some heartbreak stuffed in the corner like unclaimed baggage. A couple of years into our friendship, Andrés suffered the unimaginable loss of his younger brother, Gabriel. The loss shattered him, and for a while, his usually boundless energy dimmed.
I was terrified of saying the wrong thing to someone who had always been my rock. But when I asked if he needed space, his answer was simple: “Nope. I just need you to keep showing up.”
It was quietly monumental—a reminder that even the strongest people need the friends they’ve fortified to carry them through their weakest moments. He taught me that showing up, even when it’s awkward, even when you have no clue what you’re doing, is the truest essence of friendship.
An Ode to Friendship
Andrés and I don’t live in the same city anymore—he’s back in Miami, and I’m currently in Chicago finishing edits on my debut novel (yes, the one he basically shamed me into writing). But his constant reminders to value authenticity, embrace failure, and show up have rippled into every corner of my life.
At the end of the day, we don’t always recognize the friends who will reshape us in the moment—it’s only years later, in the gentle quiet of reflection, that we see the magnitude of their influence. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, you find yourself smiling during yet another subpar karaoke performance, realizing, Wow, that guy made me brave.
Takeaway: Your Andrés Is Out There
We all need an Andrés—the friend who cheers for your wins and calls you out when you’re stalling. But more importantly, we have the chance to be an Andrés for someone else. Show up for your people, help them lean into their quirks, and don’t let them coast through life afraid of taking some swings.
So, next time that one friend calls at 10 PM with a crazy idea, say yes. You never know where it might lead—or how much it could change you.
