HBD, Pixie Dream Girl

I just received a belated birthday message at exactly the right time.

It’s a tradition he and I have shared since we were teenagers, beginning with a surprisingly thoughtful phone call one summer break, likely prompted by a flippant “‘bet you won’t remember my birthday!" Twelve years on and I thought he’d finally forgotten our yearly tradition of sending one another a poignant, deeply honest update on our lives. Or perhaps he’d finally decided it was time to put our birthday tradition to rest. Yet as the days passed I found myself wondering if he’d remember, surprised by how much of an impact this small ritual still had on me.

Beyond the joy of the connection, these yearly messages transported me back in time, to once endless days spent roaming our tree-lined University campus, weaving between early 20th-century stone buildings, weighed down by nothing but a backpack slung across one shoulder and a head filled with dreams of the future so heartbreakingly fearless, only an 18 year-old could possess them.

He and I met in the most pixie-dream-girl way imaginable—if the moment hadn’t been so spontaneous I would’ve believed it was lifted straight from a 2000’s indie film script. During a sudden downpour of rain and mad dash to the dorms, he appeared: rescuing my newly issued student ID from a murky puddle quickly morphing into a rapid stream.

From here blossomed an adventurous, eternally-dreamlike connection. We wandered the campus late at night and shared stories from our hometowns, swapping music as if we were the first to ever hear it. Everything felt like poetry. Sneaking into window wells, chatting tipsy in the dim light of a sticky hallway, 'Nantes' hand-written on a vinyl-imitation CD. At every event, I found my eyes scanning the room in sight of a boy who seemed as much a piece of fiction as the daydreams we spoke of.

My favourite days of college can be traced to May of 2011, commonly known as ‘Mayterm,’ when I finally let go of my straight-A rigidity and fully indulged in the decadence of 20-year old living. Most days he joined my adventures, and for once the present moment seemed to capture us: partying, laughing, late nights, no sleep, and groggy afternoons sprawled across a bed of warm Illinois grass.

I knew I felt as much a dream to him as he did to me.

With him, I boldly shared all of my fearless, naive, hopes of the future, and he affirmed and inspired this best, dizzying version of myself. Without his ever knowing it, he helped me connect deeper to my own aspirations and spirit of adventure. He effortlessly intrigued me, and in return, these were the facets of myself that reflected in his presence.

I loved this version of myself, though at times I nearly felt trapped by the very dream I’d created. My pixie dream girl — unattainable and unsustainable. Years later and I'm still not sure I've found the balance between living within the intriguing dreams in my mind and the grounded reality around me.

This year’s belated birthday message came while I was walking 10,000 miles away from where we first met — in my new home in Sydney, Australia. I was circling Rushcutter’s Bay, a harbour dotted with small boats collectively bobbing and moaning just before a grey, rainy sunset. And as it happened, I’d been feeling detached lately, yearning for past versions of myself as if they existed in a separate world. After moving abroad I’d found it more challenging than ever to merge my past self with this new life I was building. Yet his unexpected message seemed to snap all these fractured identities back into place.

Each chapter of life’s memories are broken up like artifacts: a childhood afternoon curled up with pencil and sketchpad. Hand-written notes swapped on the first floor of the library, / well it's been a long time, long time now /, my body swaying in the stale summer heat of a folk concert. Moving into the old Lakeview apartment, parties packed beneath the coloured twinkle of Christmas lights, the slick crunch of snow on the back patio in Chicago, nervous laughter bubbling backstage Second City. Sweet hibiscus when I stepped off the plane in Australia, the heavy quiet of my first night alone in a new country.

In an instant, I felt a wave of relief that I hadn’t lost myself, the girl I was then was still a part of me. Restless and eager to float away with my thoughts just like then, never missing the opportunity to press my forehead against the cool glass of a car window to get lost in a daydream.

I know the current time I’m living is another moment of magic that I’ll look back on one day. There’s a distinct feeling when living in a moment that’s going to become a memory; the realisation comes as sharply as a gasp, just quickly enough to discover it's already over before you press on living.

So no matter where I land, I'll continue to carry these connections that endure the weathering of time, along with my unique montage of memories,

and remember to keep shining light on the daydreaming girl inside.