The weirdest, most mind-blowing thing just happened to me. Today, of all days-six days before Christmas-I felt what I now believe to be the worst feeling possible: nostalgia. I was at a Christmas Party. I go every year, well, almost. I didn’t go last year because, for whatever reason, I chose to celebrate with the people I see every day as opposed to those I only get to see once a year. What a genius idea. Anyways, this was a party held by the lady who ran the daycare program I attended as a little kid. Her name, to all of the kids that went through her program, was Mama Kim, and she was/is probably one of the best, most deserving, loving people I’ve ever met.

But seeing her wasn’t really the part that got to me. It was seeing all the people I literally grew up with; and the house I used to play in constantly; and the neighborhood that used to be a sprawling playground for me. Times were much simpler as a little kid, and growing up wasn’t something I contemplated as much as I do now. Personally, I never thought that I would experience the feeling that I’m feeling at the moment. Up until this point, I’ve been more than happy to see that I’m growing up and having more and more opportunities open to me. But this time… not so much.

The feeling of nostalgia is defined as “a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.” It’s strange how much that really hits it on the nail for me. There’s no better way to put it than that one sentence, and yet I find myself writing an essay about it.

I think it’s worth it to describe some of my childhood memories at this point, just to give some context. For starters, I don’t remember anything from my daycare years that actually took place outside of daycare. Maybe I remember being dropped off in the morning, but I don’t remember any eventfulness following my day at Mama Kim’s. So, as you can imagine, these memories of daycare are very precious to me.

Mama Kim has a daughter, Amanda. She’s one year older than me, but at such a young age, that really didn’t make any difference. She has a brother, Matthew, but he was born during my time at daycare. More characters include Andrea, and Michael, Andrea’s younger brother. Andrea was another member of the daycare program, but was a year older than Amanda, making her a senior in high school as I’m writing this. Me, Andrea, and Amanda were basically the original daycare squad, although I’m not sure Amanda counts as a member of the daycare because, after all, it was her house and it was her own mother running the program. Even so, she was my childhood best friend.

Every weekday, except for Fridays, I’d go to the Barker’s house (Mama Kim’s last name is Barker, by the way) and play my cares away until one of my parents came to pick me up. But, like I said earlier, I don’t remember ever being away from that home away from home. Me and Amanda and Andrea would run around, playing with Barbie’s and other toys in the toy room. We’d have adventures in their backyard playground, with mini houses and a castle and a swing set and everything a little kid could hope to exist in heaven. We’d run around the very small neighborhood (it was one very short, very suburban street; like literally 150 ft. long at the most) and would pick up friends from the ten houses (give or take) that shared the street. And now, in the very moment I’m writing this, I’ve realized that I DON’T REMEMBER THE NAMES OF THE KIDS WE PLAYED WITH. These were kids that Amanda and I saw almost every day, and I can’t remember their names. That just hit me on a whole new level. Not only am I missing the past, but I’m also forgetting it. If I didn’t come to this Christmas Party every year, would I have forgotten all about Amanda? Or Mama Kim?

The thing that makes us yearn to be young again is the innocence that comes with being young. When I was in daycare, I had no responsibilities. I had no homework, projects, clubs, rehearsals, lessons, or anything other than daycare really. My one obligation was having fun and making memories. I could goof off all day and no one would question me because, well, I was like three. But I don’t think it’s simply the fact that I was innocent by nature as a little kid that really causes nostalgia. I think the thing that hits us hardest is the people, who were as involved in those memories as we were, changing and becoming completely new characters. It wasn’t a great feeling when I literally said three words to Amanda throughout the entire party: “Hello” and “Merry Christmas”. While others were upstairs or downstairs talking and making new memories, I was standing with the adults.

Now, I’m not saying adults are boring (well, they are), but I really wish I still had strong friendships with Amanda and Andrea, and would’ve therefore been able to actually enjoy myself rather than contemplate life for the entire four hours I was at that house. As we grow older, we change. I believe that all change is bad. Now I know that sounds horrible. It makes me seem like I’m afraid of change and want everything to stay the same. That’s not true. I think Global Warming is an issue that requires serious change, and I’m more than happy to admit that change is necessary for an issue such as that. But “change” implies both a gain and a loss. For my situation, it implies that I’ve grown as a person and met great new friends, but I may not have changed for the better and I’ve lost even more friends than I’ve made. Sure, I’m happy with who I am now, but I still can’t stop asking myself “What if?” What if I could’ve stayed in daycare forever? What if I remained friends with Amanda and Andrea and all those other people in the neighborhood, as opposed to forgetting their names or being awkward around them? What if…

I think these questions are the ones that drive nostalgia. If I could go back in time to where I was a little kid playing around, I would. It’s human nature to be afraid of change. But at the same time, I recognize that there’s nothing we can do to stop from growing up. Time from a human’s perspective is, at the moment, linear. We can’t jump around throughout time as we please. That’s not how it works. The best we can do is share memories with the people we made them with. But I think the inability to do so is what’s causing my sentiment for a lost past right now. I’m not able to share these great memories with Amanda or Andrea or any of the other kids in the neighborhood because we are now strangers to one another. Reminiscence requires closure; assurance that the memories of your past haven’t completely disappeared. And when we’re unable to attain that closure, we feel nostalgic instead. I no longer have the ability to relive those memories, and so those “happy personal associations” seem to be out of my reach.

Nostalgia is depressing. Any type of longing is depressing really, because with a longing comes the doubt that you’ll ever attain what you desire. I desire to relive childhood memories, but people change, and so I’m unable to do so. But who knows? Maybe Amanda and I will reconnect someday and become best friends again. Maybe we won’t. It’s out of my control at this point. I’ve gotten too old. And that’s a strange thing to say because I’m still barely 16.

I’ve come to the conclusion that our obligations only get worse as we grow older. You can retire, you can die, but you can never go back to a time of pure innocence, beauty, and happiness: childhood. And I don’t consider all of my childhood to be worth reliving, nor do I consider myself a child, but I now know very well that childhood is a one-time-only offer that shapes who we are. As humans, we’ll never get to be children again. There will always be something that’s required of us in life, which will inevitably take focus away from all the memories we could be making. We’re all as old as we’ve ever been and as young as we’ll ever be.

And so here I am at this party, realizing for the first time that I shouldn’t rush myself in growing up. It’s ironic how slowly time passes by when we’re young and yearning to grow up, and then we finally do get older and we wish “time” would actually take its sweet time. I shouldn’t strive to rid myself of innocence, because I will only end up digging a dirt pit and jumping in. But it’ll happen eventually, and that scares the s*** out of me. Dying doesn’t seem so bad, because living is a million times worse; you actually live through it.

As I keep growing up-reaching new ages of 18, 21, 30, 40, 50, etc.-my personal obligations to keep my s*** together will grow. I’ll be dead in the water, and I’ll probably find myself unable to have any fun whatsoever. The simple cure for this depression is a paradox, because the only thing that can help us is the very thing we no longer have access to. For me, this is the friendship I once shared with Amanda, Andrea, and the many other kids on the street who are now all grown up and seemingly nameless to me. I may never be able to be friends with them again, and that’s why I feel so nostalgic right now. But hey, at least I’ve grown up.