Julia D'Rozario ’24
New Media Editor
A year ago, I wrote an article called “Long Distance Love Languages”[1] about keeping in touch with old friends. It was objectively mushy and very niche—basically just a love letter to my childhood best friends—but it resonated with some who read it. I wrote about the beauty of old friendships and the unique connections that grow when you’ve known someone for what feels like a lifetime.
Sometimes, I feel like my friends know me better than I know myself. They still see me as I was when I was a kid, unclouded by whatever circumstances are currently preoccupying me or affecting my demeanor. Maintaining connections with old friends takes work, especially when there’s distance involved… but it’s so incredibly rewarding. I’m grateful every day for how close we’ve stayed over the last decade and a half.
In last year’s article, I shared three tips for maintaining friendships across time zones, countries, and continents. Today, inspired by my spring break, I’m sharing two more:
1) Plan a trip.
Over spring break, I had the opportunity to go on holiday with my friends. It was an absolute dream come true (not to mention, it was literally the only thing in the world that could have granted me the strength to return for another half semester). It was a complete reset—I didn’t realize how unrested I had been feeling.
I think the emotional reset came from getting to spend a week just being, without “performing.”
I don’t mean “performing” in a bad way. I don’t know if this is just me, but I feel like I became an actual person when I was… seventeen? Maybe sixteen. It took me that long to become comfortable with the little behaviors and niceties that make up human interactions. Children don’t instinctively have the self-awareness to understand how they’re being perceived by others and to adopt habits that align with the society around them. They’re just sweet, chaotic little monsters, running around with limited impulse control and emotional regulation, being completely themselves without regard for what it means to exist amongst people. By the time we get a little older, we learn how to “perform”—how to keep being social when our battery runs out, how to make small talk without looking distracted, etc. It’s a good thing. But it’s exhausting.
The thing about friends who knew you before you knew how to perform is that… you don’t have to perform. You know each other’s social battery life, so there are no hard feelings when one person goes to bed at 6 p.m. They know the subtle difference between your “ask-me-what’s-wrong” face and your “don’t-ask-me-what’s-wrong” face. You don’t need to explain anything because they know your quirks already.
The lack of performance allows you to revert to a sort of childlike consciousness, which leaks into the rest of your life. I experienced the week with more wonderment than I’ve felt in years. Every laugh was a full-on fit of giggles.
2) Take so, so many photos.
The passage of time is relentless, and human memory is extremely imperfect. I feel like I graduated middle school yesterday, but I know logically that many of the memories I hold dear are distorted.
Even worse, I know that many of the joyful, funny, silly moments I’ve experienced in my life are forgotten. This became abundantly clear to me on my holiday. Two of us were discussing a school trip we had been on twelve years ago, and our memories overlapped so much less than I thought they would for having been on the exact same trip.
I remember leaving Nutella in the panini maker, attracting thousands of ants into the house, and laughing about it until our sides hurt; she had no memory of Nutella paninis. She, on the other hand, remembered watching the sun set over a beautiful black sand beach. Apparently, I was right there and loving it, but I unfortunately had no memory whatsoever of any beautiful black sand beaches. Now, I wouldn’t trade my Nutella panini memories for anything in the world—but I can’t help but feel disappointed that I’ve apparently experienced joy that no longer “exists” in my mind. Is an experience still life-changing and memorable if it doesn’t change your life and isn’t retained as a memory?
This is where photos come in. Don’t underestimate the power of visual stimuli. One seemingly random photo can open the floodgates to a million buried memories. Looking back more than a decade in my camera roll, I found a picture from the trip—a nondescript selfie on a nondescript field trip bus—and it’s like something unlocked. I remembered where we went on that bus (a black sand beach). I remembered a tree house, which my friend remembered, too. I remembered a million other tiny, happy moments.
I strongly believe that cherishing these moments—by holding on to the ones that have passed and continuing to create more—is a cornerstone of lasting love.
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jkd2dd@virginia.edu
[1] See Julia D’Rozario, Long Distance Love Languages: The Definitive Guide to Keeping in Touch with Old Friends, Virginia Law Weekly Apr. 6, 2022, at 3.