That chic who is this girl, look at her. I don't know her, but she is next to me on the beach, on the bus, or I read her articles online. She is no one in particular and she is all of them at once. She is a type of girl. She is the girl who, without any effort, makes you want to be like her. She's a woman who seems to have asked life for permission to create her. In return, it gave her this face with just enough personality not to stop being beautiful. I don't know if it's cool or is it that she has a beauty mark right above her upper lip, where I would have always liked to have one. With that beauty mark, it seems like the world has to be a little easier. Maybe it's that she has naturally rosy lips or large, almond-shaped eyes, as if they've never known mascara.

‘I wish I had the security of a straight white man’ is a phrase we’ve adopted in my group, and one we say more often than we’d like. We’re mostly gays and girls and we don’t have that many straight white male friends. Perhaps because of that, because we’re not used to it, we can quickly distinguish the overconfidence of some of them. They are gestures with which they show that the world loves them unconditionally, that they always land on their feet, that they don’t have to ask for permission or forgiveness, that they don’t have to question anything. It’s doing things without having thought about it at all, advice they assume you need, a comment or an unfinished sentence with which they expect you to make the effort to understand them, instead of them making the effort to explain themselves. It’s a feeling of impunity and immunity that is frightening. It’s audacity, in short. And I love them all the same, though, because they are my friends.

It's only been a month since my friend Henry got his place, a rental apartment in Palma, and it has already become our Holy See: the meeting point, the safe space for the whole group. Maybe not the rest, but I knew from the start that it would be; it was enough for me to see how just two restored chairs and curtains fluttering in front of the stained glass window became a home. And deciding, at the last moment, to go there to watch the World Cup final confirmed it, like a revelation, just as spontaneous acts do. It seems we had needed this for a long time, a sanctuary for our sorrows and joys. A place that welcomes us, spontaneously, where we can relax and be the only thing we want to be: friends.

Amidst the chaos, we must do our part to find moments of happiness (whoever seeks a continuum of bliss, one can already forget it, I'm sorry). Epicurus recommends that we distance ourselves from politics, because it only serves to stress us out. And this is despite not having lived through the disasters of the 20th century or the amnesia of the 21st century, which has revived fascist obsessions. It is obvious that we cannot remove the government of the polis from our lives, but we can create bubbles of time dedicated to much more important matters, like a little breeze when the sun sets, the murmur of the sea when the beach empties of people, paying attention to the sounds of birds, getting lost in the pages of a book, crying with emotion, and laughing at will.

In general, there are two groups of people: those with whom we can simply be, and those with whom we necessarily have to do something. If you don't believe me, take a quick look at your friends and family (or even partners). The people with whom we always have to do something are those with whom—intentionally or not—we make plans, those with whom we always have something to do, making them feel somewhat incomplete. I have nothing against a friend who goes for a run, a friend who goes to the movies, or a parent who finds a shared hobby with their children to spend time together. But allow me to doubt that these are the people who truly know us.

Aina Benítez met the director of I know more than you From IB3, Àngel Aguiló Palou (Palma, 1980), when they were fourteen years old, at the Joan Alcover secondary school in Palma. They repeated a year. "We repeated because we were lazy, but I don't think either of us would change it. That repeater year was a lot of fun," recalls the communicator's friend, who has more than 25,000 followers on Instagram.