Gratitude Letter #14
To Hagtown, Who Keeps Me Young and Hip
Kelly:
I remember the first time I saw you, across the courtyard at Yale. You had on a floral top (shocker) and those olive shorts you were always wearing that summer. Your hair was combed into an impossibly perfect bouffant (which I now know was held together with about half a can of dry shampoo). You were smiling and laughing with someone. Even then, before we’d even spoken, you seemed to light up what looked like a potentially scary and dark year ahead. Even then, you were somehow a bright spot.
And now, over three years later (where does the time go?), I imagine you’re sitting in your office somewhere, most likely wearing floral, with a head full of dry shampoo and amazing dreams and thoughts and witty insights. Maybe you’re finding obscure, cool things on the internet — the types of things I can never seem to find, even when I look really hard. You probably stayed up too late last night, probably grumbled this morning when your alarm went off, but somehow managed to roll out of bed into some ridiculous cool “I’m not even trying” looking outfit to match those brows that only you could pull off. And you probably weren’t even trying, which is the most insane part.
If this sounds like a love letter, it’s because it is.
I am listening to SZA and wearing those cute little evil eye earrings you just sent me. I’m sitting underneath a beautiful photo of the two of us watching the sunset the last time we were together, in the same place. I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately — not just because your gift arrived yesterday — but because you constantly find ways to challenge my thinking, broaden my horizons and make me — the grandma friend who once passed you a note that said “what are the websites that cool young people like you go to?” [thanks for posting that on IG, BTW] — a little more cool [hip? woke? please tell me what the cool kids are saying these days].
I’ve been marinating on writing this to you for awhile now. I’ll admit, I’ve been dragging my feet because it’s intimidating. (After all this time, I still feel a bit like I’m watching you across that courtyard — really wanting to be your friend but also intimidated as fuck.) Trying to capture all the things about you that I’m thankful for is overwhelming. It feels like the list is never-ending and I don’t want to trivialize how important you are to me.
I never ever wanted to live with roommates again, but somehow, by the grace of God (or GHC), I ended up in a beautiful (albeit infested) home with you, Meadhbha and Ralf. Living with you three was quite possibly one of the most transformative and more important things that has ever happened to me. Coming home on shitty days to commiserate with you and Mead; having discussions about topics and ideas I’d never talked to anyone about outside of a classroom; watching crime on the Wall-E; stumbling through DC and our year together; hearing you speak so eloquently about feminism and patriarchy and aliens; laying in a boat bed on the beach of Zanzibar: I have so many amazing memories of you.
And I feel so fortunate, today and everyday, that those memories didn't stop when we moved out of the Ogden house. Didn’t end when you hopped on that terrible ferry ride to Dar and I stayed in Stone Town. Every text from you, each WhatsApp, even all the potential bed bug bite pics and those few and far between Skypes — they light me up. You’re my bright spot, as much today as you were on my darkest days in DC.
I feel like both of us are probably cringing a bit at all this mushiness (can we lean into the discomfort?), so I’ll wrap it up. But thank you, among other things which are much more important and deep, for: introducing me to Stranger Things, for my favorite “Fuck It” pen, for making me laugh, for teaching me how to draw on WhatsApp photos and for pushing me to be a stronger, more assured and better version of myself.
Let’s make our movie and then move to a tropical island with wee Mahabana. ❤
xx
leesa
