Lately, nostalgia has been hitting me in the strangest way, not because I’m looking back at old photos or reminiscing about freshman year, not because something has ended but because I’ll be standing in the middle of Isla Vista, watching life happen around me in real time, and somehow already miss it before it’s gone. That’s the problem: nostalgia will be the death of me.
One of my favorite things to do is people-watch in IV. There is something about walking down Del Playa (DP) during golden hour that feels like watching UCSB come alive. People are gathered on balconies around bonfires, playing beer pong in backyards, pre-gaming in crowded living rooms, taking grad photos against the ocean, making dinner with roommates, or climbing onto rooftops to watch the sunset. It feels chaotic and beautiful all at once. It feels like UCSB in action.
Every time I take my usual sunset walk from DP down to Sands Beach with my friends, I find myself looking around and thinking about how many firsts and lasts are happening at the exact same time: some freshman is probably dreaming about experiencing their first IV summer, someone is going on their first date, someone is attending their last formal, someone is taking senior photos, someone is moving out and someone is moving in. And somehow, I’m stuck in this weird middle ground.
As a junior, senior year no longer feels like some distant concept reserved for older, wiser people. It’s close enough that I can see it. Close enough that every graduation post, every senior photo shoot, every goodbye dinner feels less like someone else’s milestone and more like a preview of my own future. For the first time since coming to college, I’ve become hyper-aware of time. It’s made me realize how quickly the last three years have disappeared and how desperately I want to hold onto every little thing before it becomes a memory.
The moments that feel ordinary now but will probably become the stories I tell years from now. Everything feels important lately but especially my sorority house. I’ve lived in my sorority house with some of my best friends for the last two years, and I joined my sorority during my freshman year. In so many ways, this house has been my home. Moving out has been making me emotional in ways I didn’t expect. Living here hasn’t just been a highlight of my college experience, it has been a privilege. An experience of love, friendship, and community that not everyone gets to have.
I’ve been lucky enough to live in the house at the same time as both my big and my little. That’s something I never thought much about until now. Recently, my glittle, who is a freshman, has been talking excitedly about moving into my old apartment with all of her freshman-year friends. Every time she talks about it, I feel like I’ve been transported back in time. I remember being in San Nicolas during freshman year with the same girls I joined my sorority alongside. Somehow, we instantly became inseparable.
We walked to the house together almost every day. We went to every social, sisterhood event, and late-night food run together. Eventually, we became roommates. Then we kept becoming roommates. Before I knew it, those friendships had stretched across three years of my life. Now, watching my little and glittle experience those same moments is both heartwarming and completely devastating because why didn’t I realize how special it all was while it was happening? Why did it take seeing a freshman experience those same firsts for me to fully appreciate my own?
I know I cherished those moments when they happened. I did. But somehow, it never feels like enough when you’re looking back. Watching my senior friends graduate has only added another layer to all of this. It’s been amazing watching them accomplish everything they’ve worked so hard for. Watching them take senior photos. Watching them go on their last bar crawls. Watching them attend their final formals. Watching them get accepted into graduate programs and move across the country to chase their dreams. I’m so excited for them.
But every now and then, a thought sneaks into my head: What do you mean I come back next year and they won’t be here anymore? The people who once felt like permanent fixtures of my college experience are suddenly moving into entirely new chapters. I remember being a freshman and looking up to the seniors who lived in the house. They invited us over, gave us advice, and seemed so much older than us. Then they moved out. Then somehow I moved in. And now I’m moving out too.
When I was putting together senior baskets for my big this year, I found myself getting emotional over things I hadn’t thought about in years. Tiny gifts reminded me of the presents she gave me during my own Big-Little Week; the week that introduced me to one of the most important relationships I’ve built in college. One memory led to another, one first led to another, and suddenly I found myself wondering: when did all the firsts start turning into lasts? Maybe that’s what college is.
For four years, you’re constantly becoming. You’re collecting people, places, traditions, and routines. You’re building a version of yourself through thousands of seemingly insignificant moments. Then one day, without warning, you realize those moments aren’t permanent. The walk home from class, the roommate dinners, the crowded DP sunsets, the people who live five minutes away. They’re all temporary. And somehow, knowing that has made me appreciate them more.
As scary as it is to realize that every moment next year could be a last, it’s also a reminder to actually be present for them; to stay a little longer, to take the sunset walk, to say yes to the plans, to put my phone away and soak in the people sitting across from me because nostalgia doesn’t only happen after something ends, sometimes it happens while you’re living it. Sometimes it happens on a random walk down Del Playa when the sky turns pink and everyone seems exactly where they’re supposed to be and sometimes it makes you wish you could be a freshman again, experiencing everything for the first time. If I could, I think I would; not because I want to change anything, but because I would love the chance to relive it all and this time, I promise I’d cherish it even more.
