“Time's arrow neither stands still nor reverses. It merely marches forward”
I’ve reflected on how much my life has changed. Some moments have been for the better, like when I tried to make bangs work after being told I resembled a young Dakota Johnson—two people said to me that—and some moments have been for the worst.
Change is a familiar friend to all of us. One that comes knocking on our door at all unexpected hours of the night. Yet, it always feels like a black hole of anxious possibilities that, no matter how many angles I look at it from, always end in my demise.
Most change in life seems temporary, and it usually is.
Like the change of seasons, for example. The earth performs its usual dance every equinox, with vibrant green leaves transmuting into an autumnal orange. And before you know it, we’re trudging through paths of white sheets, earnestly longing for the icy front piercing through our bones to be a warm spring breeze instead.
I can process planned change. I know the exact date I graduate, and how many months are in a year. I know how many calories are in a bag of baked lays chips (120).
But change that is out of my control brings a semblance of dread I can’t bear the weight of.
Hearing the news that someone I idolized had passed away was one of those moments of unplanned change.
One that contributed to feelings of sorrow, deep reflection, and a resolute finality of my youth.
So long as all members were alive and the fan Twitter accounts were still active - just unused- there was still a chance to return to my youth. I still felt a lingering possibility of returning to that naive, wide-eyed child within me. One whose only pressing matter was analyzing and judging whatever new girlfriend the band had. With his passing, there’s a heaviness within my chest that has laid anchor between my heart and lungs. I feel compelled to sink into a deep hole of sombrous nostalgia as I’m being forced to think about the ending of my childhood.
There was a bond formed as a One Direction fan that merged the lives of millions of girls around the world. I shared this love I had with some of the most important people in my life today. This band did an astounding job at forging and weaving together relationships like threads in a tapestry filled with shared memories and experiences.
They could fix any fight between my sister and me. No slammed door or hurtful name-calling could compare to finding a “Best One Direction Moments” on YouTube and watching it together on her twin-sized bed.
Parasocial grief is real. When a celebrity passes, it can feel like losing a part of yourself—a figure who shaped your identity, your dreams, and even the friendships you built around a shared admiration.
They were woven into the fabric of your life, present in some of your most lasting memories, helping to shape the person you've become. Their influence ran deeper than mere admiration; they set the foundation for your aspirations, making their absence feel deeply personal. Even though everything in my life has shifted, I still feel like the same person—my mom is still my comfort blanket in human form. And some of my best Friday nights are the ones where I can disappear beneath the bubbles of a bath, the soft glow of candles flickering while early 2000s R&B pours from the speakers, wrapping me in a blanket of nostalgia.
Time weaves itself into our lives like a patchwork quilt of memories; each new moment is carefully stitched into place, while the older ones fade, gathering dust at the quilt's edges. Forgotten memories blur like smoke and mirrors, distorting the clear image of our past.
I feel like I am being forced to confront growing in a world that moves faster than I’m well equipped for.
The nonalcoholic sparkling ciders my cousin and I clinked glasses to merged into vodka-hold the soda. Messily painted nails with 1$ stickers stacked on top of each other layered with pounds of glitter became a set of acrylics that sends me bankrupt every appointment. Friday nights spent flinging mall court food at your best friends have now become running through city streets at midnight in high heels and skimpy mesh tops.
It hurts to fully understand the gravitational weight that comes with loving something or someone. Love manifests in countless ways, transforming into a vibrant kaleidoscope of different forms. Each version of love carries its unique beauty and significance.
It hurts to become attached to something, because with attachment, comes the inevitable reality that loss will occur at some point in time whether that attachment is a band member, your youth, or your grandparents.
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