Visiting Selena’s apartment in the city, I began thinking about the intricacies of living alongside other people.
This summer, she lives in a 2-bedroom sublet with amazing roommates and a balcony overlooking the Charles. That day, in preparation of a picnic, we taste-tested oranges, tossed pasta salads, and folded summer rolls. As I left her apartment that evening, I found myself marveling at the beauty of living with best friends — and with it, the bonds of girlhood and female intuition.
I grew up as an only child, with my own room and my own orbiting world. Through high school summer camps, I learned how to share a room with roommates ranging from abysmal to ideal. In college, my first-year life was spent outside my dorm, scrambling out the door at 9 am and hitting the hay when I returned. My roommate and I were friendly, but not close, and we moved like ships in the night, her biological clock opposite mine. We chose others to live with next year.
This summer, though, I live with three suite-mates. I have grown closer and closer with them. We sing together spontaneously, obsess over the World Cup, and talk late into the night. We finish each other’s food, open the door when we want to chat, wake up groggy and grunt our hellos. We tell each about the foolish times we’ve said “I love you.” When one of us returns from a date or party, the rest of us are arranged on our couch, waiting for sentences that begin “let me tell you about.” We talk ceaselessly about research with equal candor. It’s only been a couple weeks, but I’m hopeful that we stay close.
Yet, there are many trials in living with — in being with — the same girls day after day. For one, we learn quickly to define what a “clean” room entails and schedule chores. We relentlessly tease every boy that makes a recurrence in our common room. Our alarms wake up each other. In this sense, roommates are the closest I’ve gotten to siblings — to built-in friends. We’ve see each other asleep, crying, lovesick, spiraling, exhausted and all emotions in between. I’ve begun to reserve a part of my mind to bringing home three extra straws, three extra pamphlets, and three extra cookies.
And so, there’s nothing that quite beats female friendships like these. For me, girlhood is powered by endless conversations — legs scrunched up to the chest in a car, lying on a couch, tanning in the sun. Paradoxically, girlhood thrives from silence, the simple comfort of warm bodies next to yours. There’s a peace in sitting beside someone, resting your heads on another’s shoulders, sleeping side by side. Almost instinctively, we know to smear sunscreen on each other’s backs, to dance crazily in our best dresses, offer water bottles and tissues and pints of ice cream at the end of the night. It’s powerful, the delirium and strength of girls in numbers. Around them, I am standing taller and walking faster, speaking loudly and laughing constantly. Female friends exude so much love, so much attentive care, so much self-righteous sass. I can’t help but be filled with so much love, filled with so much capacity to love.
Your writing perfectly captures the silliness and comfort our escapades bring hehe! Love spending time with you Cloris :)