The friends I wasn’t supposed to make my first year of college

Love ya, chumps

Everyone always told me that the friendships I would make my first year of college wouldn’t end up being the friendships I could count on to last.

I was told I wouldn’t find my people until at least halfway through my second year. People claimed those first and second semester friends would soon end up mere acquaintances; connections superficial and bonds illegitimate.

Cheers to me, then, for defying the odds and finding the best, worst, weirdest, most obnoxious friends anyone could ever ask for.

There is something to be said for how quickly we found each other. I never expected it, and I doubt they did either.

While I could very easily launch into a sappy rant about how lucky and thankful I am, I won’t. That kind of stuff goes unspoken.

I think it’s safe to assume that we would all agree those particular feelings are better communicated through intentionally awkward eye contact and verbally abusive jabs.

There’s the vegan with the contagious laugh and obsession with Sriracha. There’s the Pisces with the laughable self-pity and that goddamn hat he loves so much. There’s the Melodore with the Justin Bieber hair and ridiculous socks. There’s the ticking time bomb with the incessant French reggae and fake athlete pants.

I’m grateful for all the absurdity, from the throwing chickpeas at each other from across the dining hall to the spontaneously breaking out in pseudo British accents.

They’re all clowns, but I love them all the more for it. There’s nothing like holding pretentious philosophical conversations over phở at Bamboo Bistro, or snorting obnoxiously into our bowls of overpriced, on-the-card food at Cabana.

It’s the little things that count the most: beginning conversations in the group chat with “hey ladiez!11!1!,” shoving sriracha doused soy beans in each other’s ears just because, using the word “dude” more than any other because none of us are actually from California and we think it’s funny, rehashing inside jokes like “maybe you’re just too long” or “Sabina, sit down” or “is it cuz of my eyebrows?!?!?!?,” and going all out on everyone’s birthday except my own because we weren’t friends that early in the year.

A couple months ago, one of them said to me, “This is the first time I’ve had an actual friend group with real friends.” When I asked him what he meant by ‘real friends,’ he replied, “Well, a group of people I can see myself having lasting relationships with.”

Admittedly, none of us are the type to make friends easily, nor are any of us the type to use the term ‘friend’ loosely. So let it be known that it’s a pretty big deal that a group like us would happen to not completely hate each other.

Thanks to them for being assholes. Thanks to them for being weird. Thanks to them for being the group of friends I never thought I’d find so soon. I hate them all, but in the most loving way. And I love them all, but I’d never say that out loud.

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