Dear Future Me,

M is currently in Spain. She periodically texts me things like “need advice” and “pick one,” referring to an array of photos that she is deciding between posting on Instagram. She’s in her fourth year, like me, and studying abroad from UC Berkeley, where she is an electrical engineering and computer sciences major.

M and I first became friends by virtue of the fact that we grew up as neighbors. We were five years old, falling off our neon bikes and playing tag in the grassy area in between our houses. She’d come over and make rosewater potions (rose petals, water and a little dirt) in my backyard. I’d come over and play a brutal game of Monopoly while Taylor Swift’s “New Romantics” played in the background. It worked for us. 

Fast forward to my freshman year at UC Santa Barbara. Long story short, I was on my own journey, AKA the sad part of an independent coming-of-age film. Alternatively, Lorde’s verse in “Girl, so confusing.” We still talked, but I wouldn’t pick up many of her calls. I couldn’t explain why until much later. When I finally did, she gave me the grace of understanding. 

I always tell people how nice it is to have someone know you “in context.” When I call M, it’s not to say “hey, this thing happened!” It’s usually a version of the following: “This thing happened. And I reacted that way because of [insert incident only we know about]; it made me feel really sad. And I think it’s because of my elementary school experience, to be honest.”

Subsequent explanation is not necessary. M not only understands what I am saying, but has experienced (by proxy) what I’m talking about. 

Yes, she doesn’t live next door anymore. But M still accompanies me on walks to Cajé. Lazy Sundays in my apartment with the bagels in the toaster. The 10-minute period before I walk into a Daily Nexus print night. 

When I pass her house on the way to my own, I always remember something from the last time I was home: how I knew she got into Berkeley before she did — due to my incessant “ApplyingToCollege” Reddit obsession — and then proceeded to tell her, forgetting that she doesn’t like spoilers. How she watched a very confused version of myself spin a wheel online to decide between Emerson College and UCSB (spoiler alert: I picked UCSB).

Amitha Bhat is eternally grateful to everyone who knows her in context.

A version of this article appeared on p. 14 of the November 21st, 2024 print edition of the Daily Nexus.