Compiling a few thoughts and inside jokes while enjoying personal supply of Cadbury chocolate. What’s better way to celebrate a favorite holiday than to tell the story of
8:45AM; standing at a crossroads in Grand Central Station.
“This is me – I’m going to the train.”
“I have a few minutes. I’m running to the bathroom. This was fun – we should do it more often. Have some morning coffee, I’ll head to work a little later…”
“Sounds like a plan – see ya later!”
And for the first time since it’s happened, it finally sunk in that our era as roommates was officially no longer our reality.
August 2008: I sat down in the last possible row in Manhattan College’s chapel to kick off freshman orientation absolutely pretending to be too school for cool but really praying to dear God that someone would be my friend. A girl slid into the seat next to me.
The rest, my friends, is history.
To those who don’t know us, for past eight years, Hils has not only been my roommate, but my teammate; my go-to girl; my Harry Potter fanatic in crime; the shoulder I leaned on, cried to, and sat on top of (cheering for our favorite, Federer); my sing and dance partner from Broadway numbers to One Direction. The one person who accepted my odd loves (jellyfish, The Karate Kid, Dream Street, Valentine’s Day) and my hates (Dan Akyroyd, SARS masks, idiots, this list will never end if I keep going). Ever since I left California soil, she has become my family.
Since college – and far, far beyond that – we’ve been subconsciously inseparable. Whether it was eating in the cafeteria, freezing to death in a crappy NY apartment, losing ourselves in the magic of stage scenery, or creating our own – and often unsuccessful – adventures in the city, we were always somehow together. Don’t get me wrong, we like the idea of individuality and being self sufficient (blah blah blah); but the other never seemed to be too far behind. (Honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.)
October 2016 marks the official parting of ways. Eight years of silent Sundays streaming TV shows, arbitrary three-weeks-of-laundry dates, and a mutual address are now shared with respective significant others.
For months I’ve been dreading this separation. How were we going to function without each other!? Sure, perhaps we haven’t been as glued to the hip as we were in our college days, but there’s something oddly comforting about coming home to an empty apartment knowing that ‘her stuff is still there.’ The transition has been – for lack of a better word – interesting. Up until now, it’s still felt like we’ve been spending a lot of time at the girl/boyfriend’s.
But all it took was cups of coffee, a dash of sass, and a Gilmore Girls geek out kind of morning to remind me that no matter where we wake up in the morning, she’s my person.
To the world: you can stop judging now – we’re just soulmates.
I think one of the defining moments of ‘us’ was that night senior year when we sacrificed sleep to talk about online dating. Or maybe it was that text before junior year. It was probably that summer we lost your hubcap to the Grand Canyon…or that time
I screamed we ran after Angie Harmon. But then there’s all the times we lost the Wicked lotto to New York’s population of Asian tourists. And when ‘Double-Dee Doralee’ sang from your phone at the loudest possible volume on the plane. Oh god, what about the time I fainted because of a Halloween wig? Or when we decided to have neon hair? That one night that we literally can’t remember, but there are photos to prove it happened. Who could forget when we wasted the most important day of our lives searching for f’ing CRIF DOGS!?
Well, all of those moments may not ever compare to this one.
Of all the places to meet, who would’ve guessed that we’d cross paths in a church pew? But first impressions proved right: I knew exactly everything I could know about you, and you thought I was nuts.
Oh how far we’ve come.
When I moved across the country, I never could have imagined finding a friend like you: the vuh-nil-LA to my chocolate; the jam to my crunchy pb; the bagels to my protein powder; the sneakers to my heels. In other words, the near antithesis of me – and one of the best friends I could have ever asked for. You’re my girl.
Eighteen years old, I think we were all wondering how I was going to survive on my own. You saw the big, fat softie beyond the snappy, black bob of hair I had. (Oh boy. Remember when?) How do I thank you for helping me grow thick skin? For understanding my weirdness and embracing it with me? For teaching me that life is not as stressful as I make it out to be?
I’m pretty sure I introduced beer into your life. For now, maybe we call it even.
It goes without saying that this kind of friendship is rare; a friendship that disagrees and agrees about nearly everything. And because no letter to you is complete without some cheese: because I knew you, I have been changed for good. We may no longer be roomies, but I leave you in the best hands I know! And remember, you’re never going to get rid of me. Don’t even try.
“STOP RUNNING! I’M GOING TO CATCH YOU!”
Love you always,