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As I flip through my high school yearbook, I’m met with pages of scribbled signatures from people I spent nearly every day alongside for four years. From late nights anxiously studying for exams to football games so cold I could see my breath in the air, I navigated my messy and confusing teenage years with the same people I stood next to in the stands at graduation.

I’m beginning to reckon with the fact that these memories will only continue to fade. Eventually, I’ll forget what shirt I wore that day, what kind of flowers I got after the ceremony and what song I listened to on the drive home.

Four months later, books and papers clutter my dorm desk as I fidget with the navy and orange lanyard I bought during my first week of classes because I kept misplacing my dorm keys.

Even though I’ve developed a rhythm in my new routines, I still find myself reaching for the person I was in high school. When I’m overwhelmed with piles of assignments, I look at old photographs and trace the handwriting of cards from people I no longer see or speak to, and I wish I could return to that time. Sometimes, I wonder if things would’ve been better had I never left those people behind.

The ache for my past seems to sneak up on me when I’m not looking, reminding me of a version of myself that doesn’t exist anymore. It hides in the mundane: the hums of my car engine that stayed the same from my first day of high school to the day I left for college, the smell of rain on a half-awake Monday morning and the gloves I’ve had since I was 15 that I pulled out to brave the Syracuse winds.

The memories have drifted far enough to be blurry, but remain close enough for me to make out their silhouettes. They’re such distant thoughts that it’s easy to shape them how I want. In turn, I remember those moments as better than they were.

I smooth over the rougher parts of my past and, instead, glorify the brighter details because they give me a sense of safety, especially in times of unpredictable change. No matter where I’m at in life or what stressful situation I’m in, I can rely on memories of an easier time for comfort.

But with this, I’m also omitting their equally harsh realities. That feeling of security is only a facade constructed of a highly filtered version of my memories that lends to an inaccurate narrative of my past.

I view it through rose-colored glasses and think of it as simpler and more desirable. This perspective is delusional, though, because it dilutes the more realistic and uncomfortable parts of these memories where I grew the most.

At some point, it hurts the person I am now. New experiences may seem daunting, but growth isn’t possible without uncertainty. Clinging to what’s already over has prevented me from seeking new experiences, lessons, people and even hardships. These things are formative to the person I could become during my time at Syracuse University. Instead of dwelling in what could’ve been, it’s more valuable to focus on what’s to come.

Someday in the future, whether in a month or in 10 years, you will look back on the moments happening right now and wish to get them back. You won’t be the version you are right now ever again. Give grace to those moments, let them rest and let them go. Your present doesn’t deserve to be punished by your past.

Gain Lim is a freshman majoring in Health & Exercise Science. She can be reached at glim06@syr.edu

Published on October 27, 2025 at 9:26 pm