I think we were eight then, rolling down a grassy hill, the blades sticking to our jackets, filling our pockets, the sun warming our faces. I remember the way we laughed, as if there was no end to the day, as if the grass stains were badges of honour. In those moments, we didn't know it, but we were infinite. It wasn't just rolling down the hills, though. It was everything. The way we sang on the bus, so loudly and off-key, when we thought nobody could hear us—or when we didn’t care if anybody heard us. The way we danced in cramped rooms, our feet aching from hours of moving, but we didn’t care because the music made us forget about everything else. It felt like we could keep dancing forever, as if time didn’t even exist.
One night, on a school trip when we were eleven, we turned the lights off in the hall of our hotel and asked someone to play music from their phone. We'd all brought torches, so we waved them around like we were on a makeshift dance floor. With the lights off, we lit up the room, and all of a sudden, it was like we weren’t dancing to the music, we were dancing because we were alive. In that moment, we didn’t need anything but each other.
It's not just about the fun, though. It's about how they made me feel like I could do anything, even things I thought I was too afraid of. I'm terrified of heights, but with my best friend by my side, I could face them. I remember the first time I ziplined. My heart was racing, my knees weak, but she stood there holding my hand and told me I could do it. And she didn’t let go until I made it to the other side.
And then, there is rain. I've always loved it. More than anything, ever. The cool feeling against my skin, the sound of it tapping against windows—it’s beautiful. But one day, we were playing basketball on the school grounds when the first drop hit. The rain came down hard, soaking us almost instantly, but instead of running for cover, we kept playing. We laughed, dribbled through puddles, the wet court beneath us only making everything more exhilarating. When the game ended, we didn’t rush to the classroom. We just walked in the rain, our feet squelching in the mud, the coolness of the water washing away everything else. In that moment, the rain wasn’t just something I loved. It was part of the feeling of being free, of being in a moment I never wanted to end.
There's something about those moments with my friends, something that makes me feel infinite. It's not about the music, or the dancing, or the heights. It's about the way they make me feel. Like I can be anything, like I can truly be myself, and like there’s nothing I can’t face as long as we’re together.
And when I look back on those times, I realise they weren't just about living in the moment. They were about feeling alive, fully, completely. In those moments, I'm reminded that sometimes, it's not about how long something lasts, but how deeply it affects you. The freedom we had back then is something I carry with me, a reminder that life isn't about existing, it's about living, unapologetically.
Written: 2024
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