Nostalgia feels like a constant companion as a fourth-year student.

College will soon be over, and I will begin the next chapter of my life.

As a kid, everything felt endless, but with each passing year, the last times have become clearer to me.

Soon, I will be desperate for just one more night sleeping in the same apartment as my roommates or cooking together. I will be wishing for one more evening with all my friends, going out and debriefing the next morning.

This may seem melodramatic, because this is part of life; as one door closes, another opens. But I yearn to keep the door cracked open, so maybe once in a while, I can squeeze through and hold on to those moments again.

What I am learning is that memories are not meant to be held in perfect detail. They change, soften, drift – but they don’t disappear. Even when they fade, something stays with us: the part that mattered, the feeling that made the moment worth remembering.

When my college experience ends, the sadness will exist. But so will the memory. It will still feel warm and close, not yet touched by time.

What scares me are those memories becoming shadows – fainter, quieter and harder to touch.

Think of being in elementary school. We were so young and innocent, not fully understanding the complexities of the world. We played without fear, making paper turkeys in November or playing recess games like four-square.

When I think of memories like these, I smile. Even though time has blurred the smaller details, the moments that matter the most still leave an imprint.

I love taking photos and videos, like many people. I’ve realized I cling to these images because memory is never as permanent as I want it to be. It’s one way I can peek back through the door. I hold this evidence close to me, scrolling through once in a while to try remembering who I was in those moments.

I can look through those images every day, but photos and videos cannot capture the atmosphere. I can’t record or take a picture of every joke or chaos in those moments. No matter how much I want to, I cannot capture the person who existed back then, only the trace left behind.

This is the point of memories. Good or bad, eventually they fade, but no matter if that moment was warm or painful, the emotion is what one carries.

I am not ready for my memories to become harder to remember. I know what this means: the slow unraveling of moments that shaped me, dissolving into the background until only echoes remain.

This is what makes life so special. The way every chapter leaves its mark, even if the details soften with time. The way we grow because of the people we met, the places we lived, the routines that once felt ordinary but now feel irreplaceable.

Even as memories fade, the feelings they gave us don’t disappear. They settle into who we are. They shape how we love, how we trust, how we choose our people. That’s the real purpose of remembering – not to hold on forever, but to let each moment become part of us, quietly guiding us forward.

So even though this chapter is soon ending, I’m choosing to believe the next one will bring its own warmth, lessons and people who will one day become memories I treasure just as deeply. Life keeps giving us new moments worth holding onto, even as the old ones gently drift into the background.

And maybe that’s enough: to trust that what mattered these four years will stay with me, even if I cannot remember everything perfectly. After all, nostalgia is living proof you are living a life you love.