ROOHISM

Once you peeled off the layers — and it took approximately three minutes per layer — each one of us was exactly who we were ~12 years ago.

The same goofy eyebrow raises. The same worse-than-inappropriate jokes. The same desire to do nothing but hang. And the same comfort of being accepted exactly as we are.

We first met in 2003, graduated in 2005, and reunited in 2018. Such a random scatter of lives: a third kid on the way, a thriving café, an engineer in the cannabis industry, bouncing from Dallas to Manhattan. Yet somehow, something magical pulled us back to the ISE clubroom — back to that lazy couch.

Our reunion transported us straight to the hallways of the Engineering building, where the bold, playful version of me roamed free, introducing herself to random strangers: “Hi, my name is Ruhi!” Boom — best buddies! With no words needed, just our smiles took us back to a time when the only excuses we ever made were for staying out longer, laughing louder, and refusing to grow up.

We reminisced about the night we drew a Hitler ‘stache on our drunken friend’s face. About laughing for twenty minutes straight when our buddy mistook wasabi for chutney and downed it in one heroic, fiery gulp. And oh, the post-exam socials, sponsored by Professor Komrosky. We even replayed the night we broke the car entry gate and ran for our lives, only to show up to Economic class the next morning, pretending nothing unusual had happened.

Yes, we all have responsibilities now — the pressure, the act together, the adult packaging. But underneath all the layers, we’re still the same little kids craving freedom, connection, and acceptance. If I could go back in time and change a thing, I wouldn’t. I’d still be the annoying frontbencher, the smart-ass who knew all the answers. And I’m certain none of these backbenchers would change a thing either.

There are two ways to look at layers — the traditional way, where you peel them one by one to uncover who someone really is. And then the other — where life itself adds the layers: adulthood, responsibility, success, heartbreak, society, the whole circle of becoming “someone.”

When you make new friends, they need to peel back those layers one at a time to get to know the real you. But when you meet your old friends, those same layers just slide off. Or do they?

Maybe that’s the real magic of reunions — they don’t just bring old friends back together, they bring back the old versions of us too. It’s like sitting in a time capsule — suddenly, you’re not in 2018 anymore, you’re back in 2003, wearing the skin of your younger self. The goofy one. The reckless one. The one who still thought life would unfold exactly as planned.

And that’s where it gets interesting. Do the same things still spark joy? Or has the gap between then and now stretched so wide that you barely recognize that kid? What was important to you then and what has changed? Did you promise yourself you’d finally be happy when you got that decent job? And when you did — were you? Or were you perpetually looking for the next source of happiness?

Did you know, even back then, that no matter how many promotions you earned, how many new versions of the iPhone you bought, or how many extra zeroes you chased in your bank account, you’d still be hunting for the next big thing — desiring what you don’t have yet and taking for granted everything you’ve already accomplished?

What you thought would bring you joy then… did it? Or are you still seeking? Still hungry for more? Still insatiable?

At the time, you just wanted to pass the exams. Now, you drive a nice car, live in a beautifully decorated home, have a fancy job that makes you walk with pride, maybe a healthy stock portfolio, enjoy the best makeup from Sephora, probably have plans to host people for the holidays. You are, by all measures, the hero version of your younger self. But — are you?

Maybe it’s a good time to pause. To reflect. To do a little reverse gap analysis.

Reunions have a funny way of humbling and flattering you at the same time. They hand you a mirror — not the magnifying kind that shows your pores, but the soulful kind that shows your before. These friends were your biggest fans long before you had achievements, titles, or polish. They loved you when you were raw, broke, dramatic, and a little bit ridiculous. They remember your clumsy confidence and your half-baked dreams. The qualities they adored back then — do you still carry them now? Or did they quietly slip out the back door while you were busy perfecting your grown-up act?

Reunions have a way of peeling those layers back. They remind you that beneath the sophistication and the spreadsheets, the polished conversations and the curated life, there’s still that wild, grinning, slightly unrefined, beautifully unfiltered version of you — the one who laughed too loud and dreamed too big.

If you could borrow one thing from your younger self — a spark, a virtue, a ridiculous habit — which one would it be? And think a little deeper: what if the version of you you’ve been trying to outgrow is still the one holding the brightest spark?