Never Meant to Be Friends

She Dated Five Men At Once. I Applied to Harvard.

Some friendships feel like they were written by fate. Others sneak up on you like a plot twist you didn’t see coming. Mine with Sam was the latter—unlikely, wild, and quietly life-changing.

The Strange World of Sam

We met in college. Before I even spoke to her, I had seen her: always flanked by a guy named Will, who looked at her like she was the last sunrise on Earth. She wouldn't let him call her his girlfriend, but we all knew what it was. She kept him close—not out of love, but maybe because it felt good to be wanted.

Sam and I bonded over ambition. We both signed up for a program that claimed we could pass all seven architecture licensing exams in one year. Borderline delusional. Most people took a decade. Many gave up. But we were in our twenties, idealistic, maybe arrogant enough to think we could beat the odds. And we succeeded. That’s how our friendship started. We weren’t supposed to be friends, but suddenly, we were.

Back then, I had signed with a modeling agency, using my real name on billboards and in fashion campaigns. One day, a business contact from New York, whom I’d never seen, emailed me asking if I knew a model with my exact name living in Kansas City. “I’ve been following her career,” he said. I told him it was me, and he was shocked. 

Another day, I stumbled across Facebook photos of Sam under a different name: Bailey. “Who’s Bailey?” I asked. “Oh,” she shrugged. “Just a name I wanted to use.” No guilt, no need to explain. She lived like the rules didn’t apply—and maybe they didn’t. I remember thinking, Wait, you can just… do that?

While I was burning out at a prestigious firm, my drawings stamped by old white men who barely knew my name, Sam was at a better-paying office stamping her own damn work. How? I didn’t get it. Then, one Saturday over coffee, she casually told me she was asking for a 30% raise. “Because I deserve it.” I gasped. She got it. I was still debating if I could ask for 5%.

I eventually left Kansas City and moved to San Francisco, while she stayed. We made time to see each other, once meeting in Seattle for my birthday and later in Berlin to meet her friends. It always felt like no time had passed. We had shared roots—both Filipino, both driven—but she was fire and I was earth. She was loose and electric; I was structured and thoughtful. Somehow, it worked.

Our biggest divergence? Dating. I was the conservative, old-school type. The kind who filtered out every man who didn’t fit the mold of “marriage and kids.” Sam? Her parents told her never to marry. She dated five men at a time, filtered out anyone who wanted more than fun. I zipped my lips about sex like it was a government secret. She talked about hers like it was brunch.

When we met up at the airport to visit Idaho of all places during the pandemic, I told her I got into Harvard Business School. She told me about the new guy she was seeing—maybe the fourth or the sixth. She stopped counting. We laughed.

Then came Charlie. 

The tornado from Chicago.

At first, he was everything: charming, magnetic, generous. But Sam’s gut was always sharper than mine. She researched him—thoroughly. Found out he lied about everything but his name. Job. Family. Marital status. All fiction. Still, she kept seeing him. “Why?” I asked. “Because it’s fun,” she said. “And even better that he could vanish at any time.”

That’s when I saw Sam’s version of power. She wasn’t careless. She was intentional. She wasn’t afraid of being lied to; she was afraid of being owned.

But something changed. She didn’t sleep with him. Not after the first date. Not the second. Not until the sixth. Eventually, she dragged him to couples therapy. He confessed, they talked, and—somehow—they became exclusive. The girl who ghosted anyone with commitment energy was moving in with a man. The rules bent. She bent.

Watching her transform was like watching a thunderstorm turn into a sunrise. Unexpected, soft, but still fierce.

From Sam, I learned to stop judging myself. To keep evolving without apology. To love myself not because someone else did, but before anyone else could. She taught me that being bold isn't the opposite of being good. And being whole matters more than being right.

We’ve been plotting our next adventures. After shark diving in South Africa, she wants to see the penguins in the Galápagos. I want to explore Egypt—robe-draped, sunburned, and preferably not alone in a country run by men.

Emulsified Oil and Water

We’re not a sticky kind of friendship. We’re oil and water that somehow mixed. Never lying, never judging, always real. I see how far she’s come—from a woman who swore she’d never belong to anyone, to someone willing to try love for the first time.

And I see how far I’ve come, too.

Sam is like water. She flows where she wants. Crashes when needed. Shimmers in sunlight and storms.

And me? I’m still learning to flow.

Note: This is the true story of my friendship with Sam. The details may seem like fiction, but it’s all real—our bond, our growth, and the lessons we’ve learned along the way.