Celebrating 10 Years of a Life-Altering Friendship

This week, as we near the end of 2024, the writers and editors of KQED Arts & Culture are reflecting on One Beautiful Thing from the year.

T

en years ago I was a junior in college, back when YikYak was still relevant and Schoolboy Q’s Oxymoron album was brand new. Twice a week, I made my ritual trek along Chicago’s Fullerton Avenue to campus for my intro to American foreign policy class. It was only a handful of blocks from my apartment, but the cold wave that hit the city that winter made those blocks feel like miles, especially when it snowed. But the walk was worth it, because every week I got to periodically glance at the incredibly cool, cute, turquoise-haired stranger that sat one seat away from me: L.

L was every professor’s dream student to have in class. They were always ready to go when class started, spoke at least once during the discussions and took immaculate notes, and I, on the other hand, dreaded speaking up and was perpetually late thanks to an embarrassing combination of then-undiagnosed ADHD and ongoing sorority obligations. Every week I came to class intending to sit next to L so I could try and befriend them, and every week the seat was claimed before I arrived, already taken by some red-headed kid. To my annoyance, he had an absolutely glowing attendance record until finally, one class before the final exam, he was gone and the seat next to L was mine.

It was one of those minuscule moments that wound up deeply altering my future. L and I just clicked. Our relationship has changed over the course of time (friends first, followed by a brief stint as partners, then back to friends), but so long as L is in my life, I don’t care what form it takes. L has been such a monumental source of joy that when they suggested flying out to the Bay Area in March so we could reunite to celebrate our decade of love and friendship, I immediately cleared my grad school calendar.

Our friendship has endured many twists and turns, including the pandemic, cross-country moves (L to Texas, me to California), and two master’s programs (one apiece). Between in-person hang outs over the years, we’ve visited each other’s islands on Animal Crossing, FaceTimed, and exchanged birthday cards, Christmas cards, Halloween cards, and plenty of ‘just because’ cards. Once, after helping me pack up my old Chicago apartment in the early days of COVID lockdown, my dad even let me take a detour on our way back to Minnesota, just so we could wave at each other from six feet apart.

We’ve never run out of things to talk about or learn from each other. I’ve always admired, for example, the way L carries themself. In 2014, L was totally unapologetic about the pieces of pop culture they loved, like One Direction and Captain America, and about their personal style, which included piercings and tattoos my parents would have burnt me at the stake for even thinking of getting. Today, L still encourages me to reject cringe culture, to enjoy the things I enjoy without caring what others think. So when they came out to visit, we indulged in all of our shared interests, cringe or not, including history, horror and K-pop.

We brought our favorite K-pop photocard holders along for a tour of the Winchester Mystery House in San José, drove to San Francisco and then Concord to scope out the selections at local K-pop stores, and ate takeout on my Berkeley apartment’s rooftop while the sun set.

We reminisced about the people we used to be and the things we used to do together, like attending protests and celebrating pride at Chicago’s Dyke March. We giggled about the time we ran into Drag Race legend Naomi Smalls (L was so overwhelmed they forgot how to smile when we took a selfie with her), and the time L graciously agreed to be my date to the Chi Omega spring formal (the first, but not the last Greek life event I dragged them to). We reflected on the American foreign policy class that brought us together in the first place, and even clinked our glasses of soju to toast the red-headed kid for missing that last week of class.

L’s impact on me is emotional and very tactile. I keep two framed photos of their childhood self dressed as a witch for Halloween in my living room, and one of their old hoodies hangs in my closet. We have matching K-pop-related keychains and still sometimes refer to ourselves as “LANNON” (a combination of our names). We even have disgustingly cute matching friendship tattoos that we got last year: L has a pink-frosted doughnut to represent me, and I have an orange-frosted doughnut on my right arm to represent them. In the Instagram post L made after visiting me, someone in the comments even wished us a “happy LANNON decade!”

There just aren’t enough words to describe how stupidly lucky I am to have someone in my life who makes that life so much brighter and fun. We may no longer be the same Captain America-loving (L) and Pretty Little Liars-obsessed (me) college kids we once were, but we’ve been, and will continue to be, together for all of our rebirths and revivals, through new hair colors, music obsessions and other lifestyle changes. The future is something that still haunts me when I think deeply about it, but at least I won’t have to face it alone. As 2024 comes to a close, I feel less scared and more excited to step into a new decade with L by my side, to see where and how we’ll continue to grow together.