The Girl Who Got Frozen / Jess Ferguson

The Girl

Who Got

WORDS Jess Ferguson VISUALS Kaitlyn Joyner

“Friends break up, friends get married. Strangers get born, strangers get buried. But I’m right where you left me.”

I’m a memory hoarder. I remember full names and birthdays of elementary school classmates who probably haven’t thought about me since leaving school. I recall anecdotes friends tell me about their lives in passing. I hold onto every card and note I receive, even from people no longer in my life. I don’t delete texts off my phone until I absolutely have to. I think frequently about high school and the clubs and teachers I spent much of my time with, people who shaped my current interests and personality but who I haven’t seen in years. I’m not quite sure why I keep these scraps, these remnants of my past.

When Taylor Swift released the song “right where you left me” as a bonus track on “evermore,” I immediately resonated with the subject of the song: a girl who can’t move on from her past despite everyone else carrying on. I used to think it was normal, this hoarding and fixation on the past, but I realized most people immediately discard these mementos without any forethought. What does that say about me?

“Everybody moved on. I, I stayed there.”

Am I stuck in the past for holding onto these memories? Do I verge on stalker status for keeping everything of remote sentimental value? Is this some kind of coping mechanism? I’m not sure, but I’ve made my peace with it. Even if these people or

“As much as our relationships reflect who we are, they also reflect who we will become.”

identities are no longer an active part of my life today, they were at one point and shaped me into who I am today. Of course the friends I’ve had for years and my family have impacted my life greatly—but so did the best friend I had in third grade, the friend group I lost touch with during the pandemic, and the teachers I spent hours

with after school. As much as our relationships reflect who we are, they also reflect who we will become. Every encounter—positive, neutral, negative—has taken form in some way. If I hadn’t been friends with a particular person or been involved in a certain group, my life would have taken on an entirely different trajectory, and I’m satisfied with my life today. So really, I have these little, seemingly inconsequential memories and people to thank.

It’s not so much that I miss my friends from elementary school, it’s that I fondly look back on those memories and the joy they brought to my life for that moment in time. And even the not-sojoyous moments have still taught me a lesson or made me into a stronger, more resilient person. I guess I hold onto these memories because it’s a way to memorialize every phase in my life: I can look back at a card from my freshman year best friend and immediately transport to that moment in time. My memories and mementos serve as a metaphorical time machine.

“you left me no choice but to stay here forever.”

While I stand by the importance of these little moments, I can’t help but wonder what it would mean to let go. Taking a trip down memory lane is nice every once in a while, but I can’t establish permanent residence there. I have to step out of the time machine and get back to living. There is so much life to live, and I don’t want to waste that by staying in the past thinking about old relationships and what would’ve happened if I had stayed friends with them, or done something differently. While I relate to “the girl who got frozen” from the Taylor Swift song, unlike her, I won’t stay here—the past—forever. It’s there when I need it, and I can leave it as I choose. I still am who I am, and a card from 2015 won’t change that.