Nostalgia has always been a big part of my life, even more so now as my childhood seems to be slipping away. As I have grown up I have realized that I treat the present as if it’s already a memory, I miss it while I’m in it and then I long for it. But no matter how much I cry, scream, fight, and grieve- I can only hold onto the memory, I’ll never physically be able to relive it.
The memories of learning, growing, and just existing are the ones I long for now. Even when life felt uncertain and challenging I had the girls I grew up with to hold onto. We were intertwined like creepers, growing together, protecting each other. This piece is an ode to growing up but not letting go.
We were girls together. At 11 years old, We saw the world through barbed fences, unaware of the reality of life and adulthood. We wept together for days when our parents left us in a room full of strangers expecting us to fend for ourselves. We were tiny little children, clueless about the ways of the world. I didn’t know how to wash my hair, make my beds, or even braid my hair. But as time passed someone somewhere held my hand and guided me into pulling that cover on my pillow, washed my hair to show me how it’s done, and braided my hair every single morning before school. At night, when homesickness clung to my heart and tears slipped down my cheeks, I’d reach for the one bar of Dairy Milk I had secretly tucked away. With every small bite, I clung to the comforting taste of home, as I lay there in the unfamiliar darkness.
We were girls together. At 12 years old, We would crouch down near the landline watching each other crumble to pieces upon receiving devastating news from home but unable to do anything about it, except just be there. We shared beds like little kids as we huddled under the covers with a small flashlight, reading our favorite books and finding comfort and warmth in those little moments. When we got caught and were made to stand outside on the balcony on a chilly December night, our laughs were enough to warm us more than any blanket could. We would throw away our glass of cocoa and bowl of porridge only to be caught and called back to the mess where we would sit on the teacher’s table but somehow still avoid eating it. It felt like we were rebelling against something only we understood but we were in it together.
We were girls together. At 13, We would skip math class and get a note from the hospital just to sit in the sun and talk about the same situation for the 100th time, adding the slightest tweak so we could justify talking about it so much. It felt like the most important thing in the world at that time. We would take the biggest piece of dessert one night and those small things felt like the greatest joys of life. We would race across 97 steps just to get a senior something they asked for; their requests became our little moments. We would daydream of being these seniors one day- eager to make our juniors do what we were made to not knowing how much we would long for it. After what felt like an eternity– we grew up just a little.
We were girls together. At 14, We dragged ourselves out of bed at 6 am every Sunday morning and ran across campus to play basketball after being threatened by our seniors. As we played in the heat, it became less about winning and more about belonging. We sprinted to the mess afterward to secure the best table as we stuffed ourselves with more french fries than physically possible. Speakers blasting “Where did all the time go” the lyrics posing a question we would never be ready to answer. We would lie on the grass on a lazy afternoon and talk about growing up and what we would be like after high school.
We were girls together. At 15, We would spend night after night at that worn-out table in the center of the dorm, nine people crowded around a space that was meant for four. Formula sheets, graphs, and calculators scattered across the table as our eyes shared a sympathetic look for those of us who knew we would end up with a 4/80 in the coming math exam. On crisp autumn days, we’d run around campus, the crunch of fallen leaves beneath our shoes, running into the mess to get an extra “Chinese roll” feeling like we had won the quest of life.
We were girls together. At 16, we felt invincible, it finally felt like we had found our place. Every night without fail, a junior would brew us matcha and coffee as we all piled onto a single bed. The air would buzz with gossip and laughter as the four of us tucked ourselves into the warmth of each other’s presence. We would inevitably get louder till the entire dorm chipped in and eventually our Matron heard us. Her reprimanding voice sliced through our laughter. It was a matter of seconds till she left and we would burst into laughter once more- the thrill of rebellion making our hearts race.
We were girls together. At 17, We found ourselves in the principal’s office every morning without fail – for not waking up on time, wearing the incorrect uniform, or whatever trouble we had gotten into before. As we stood in that office, we hoped that our eyes didn’t meet, knowing that the second they did we would burst into laughter and the consequences would be far worse than we could bear. We would stay up till 3 in the morning, waiting for the washing machine to finish its cycle, so we could sit in the darkness of the fourth bathroom stall, with nothing but our worn-out black candle to guide us- where we shared tears, smiles, gossip, anger between those four sacred walls amid the chaos of school and growing up.
Finally, as reality sinks in and you realize it is all about to be over and the seven years feel like a fever dream, it feels like a Wallows song is playing in the background of your life and there is a bittersweet (more bitter than sweet) coming-of-age moment. And, as I stand on the steps of the auditorium, hand in hand with girls who are now sisters, a soft candle burning away in my other hand, there is a profound ache in my heart – a painful reminder that no matter how badly I want time to stand still- this too will become a memory I will ache and long for.