to the future girls of 138

With graduation just a little under a month away (*screams internally*), I’m oceans deep “in my feelings” as the kids say. I’ve been extra reflective, sentimental, and nostalgic, so go ahead and prepare yourself for all the sap that’s to come.

In a few weeks, I’ll move out of my first apartment. I don’t know about you, but I hate moving. Mostly because it’s a lot of work and who actually enjoys the pain that is packing? But in the spirit of sentimentality, I wanted to write a letter to the future girls of apartment number 138. I don’t think they will ever actually read this, but it’s symbolism, ya know?

So, to the future girls of 138:

There’s a lot you should know about this little apartment. For starters, you should be thankful for that microwave. It’s brand-spankin' new, so take care of it. The old one beeped for like three years, so you’re welcome. Use it to make popcorn at midnight, a lean cuisine if you’re into that, and tea when your allergies hit. Treat it like the amazing microwave it is, because if it breaks, it will be at least a month before it gets fixed. And you will be heating things up on the stove top like it’s the 1890’s.

The microwave isn’t the only highlight of the kitchen. That kitchen is strictly for dancing, incorrectly melting butter, and overcooking chicken. It’s for late night snacks with your roommates and singing to yourself while you unload the dishwasher. It’s for grabbing a bite of cookie dough and setting up the coffee pot for the next day’s coffee. Sit on the counter and tell funny stories. Talk about life when you have a million other things to do.

The living room is a pretty great place, though you won’t have the privilege of sitting upon the most comfortable and perfect chair in existence. We’re taking that with us, sorry ladies! It used to sit in front of the window, where it held us as we ate Chick-Fil-a, had heart-to-hearts and studied for tests at the butt crack of dawn. Well, I did that like once, TBH. Datelines were watched, games were played, and afternoon naps were taken in this room. Always choose to watch “just one more episode” and if goofing around means “taking an L” academically, do it anyway. You’re probably going to graduate and everything will be fine.

The upstairs hallway isn’t merely a hallway. It’s a gathering spot for late night conversations and a portal for instant procrastination. Bored with your studying? Mosey on down to someone else’s room. Bust up in there with conversation or a stupid meme. Instant entertainment within five feet of your bedroom. The corners of the hallway are incredibly sharp, perfect for scaring your roommates. You might just find yourself paranoid every time you turn a corner. The doors are functional, though we always barged right in. You might as well just leave them open.

At first, this place will simply be four walls and a roof, but eventually it’ll become your home. You’ll laugh, cry, fall down the stairs, get the flu, laugh, have a mental breakdown, laugh, and probably cry some more. You’ll clog a couple toilets, low-key break your dishwasher, and battle for the perfect thermostat temperature. You just might buy WD-40 for the first time and finally master the art of command strip usage. You’ll feel safe, known, loved, and accepted and these friends you took a chance on living with might just become family.

So, future girls of 138, LIVE. IT. UP. But always lock the door because there’s this theory about strangers wandering into the apartment complex and using the downstairs bathroom, but that’s beside the point. Don’t forget to buy a vacuum; Lord knows you’ll need it. Soak it all in and enjoy every moment of college. It’ll all be over before you know it and soon you’ll be wishing for just a little more time in 138.





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