Oasis

There's something almost sacred about a house full of girls. I know how that sounds, but stay with me here. Also, for context, I'm writing this in my dorm room in Santa Fe, NM, at my first real teaching job (more on that soon), just three weeks after saying goodbye to the house that changed my life, and I'm still processing the entirety of this year. So, if this is overly sentimental, spare me.

Our house was called Oasis, and it lived up to its name—a refuge from the overwhelming uncertainty of junior year when you have no idea what you're doing with your life and everything feels like it's moving too fast. Don’t get me wrong though, the house itself was in shambles most of the time, with a constant film of stickiness on all the floors and counters from spilled drinks, and a period when it got so bad that we lovingly referred to it as our “swamp era.”

Let me set the scene: nine girls (Julia, Pia, Megan, Kaitlyn, Isabelle, Makenzie, Natalie, Anna, and me) crammed into a house that was probably not meant for nine people, trying to figure out how to be adults while still crying over things like dumb frat boys. It should have been a disaster. It should have been nine different schedules, nine different friend groups, nine different ways of living that never quite aligned.

Instead, it became the kind of place where you walk in and immediately feel like you can breathe again.

I think the magic started on day one when we took one look at those hideous yellow walls and collectively decided, "absolutely not." So naturally, we spent our first weekend painting the entire house instead of unpacking like normal people. 

Then we just kept going with it. Like "Panty Drop Fridays," which I invented during our first week as the most ridiculous possible way to kick off our weekend. It was stupid and perfect and became our unofficial calling card. Did we get some shit for having a “Panty Drop Friday” sheet hanging on our front porch? Yes (especially from the landlord, sorry!!!). Did we care? No, we thought it was funny, and we were having a great time. Because every Friday, without fail, we'd all end up in Kenzie's room (which had somehow become the unofficial getting-ready room), swapping clothes and doing each other’s hair just because it made everything more fun.

Or, like when everyone spent an entire day planning me and Pia's birthday party in the backyard, keeping it a complete secret until the reveal. They transformed our space into something magical. It was the kind of celebration that reminded me what it means to be truly seen and loved by your friends.

It's in these moments that you understand what female friendship actually is. Not the perfectly orchestrated matching outfits or the posed friend group photos you see all over social media, but the unglamorous, instinctive ways you show up for each other when it matters.

But it wasn't all deep and emotional support—we also had some of the most ridiculous fun I've ever had in my life. Like when we racked up thousands of dollars worth of noise complaints (sorry we know how to have a good time). Or the fact that we somehow accumulated so many wigs that we needed a designated wig wall in the back hallway. 

And the boys. The endless, rotating cast of love interests that became our shared entertainment. Someone would come home with the most ridiculous story, and suddenly we're all gathered around dying laughing, creating inside jokes and nicknames for each guy that would stick for months. We knew everything about each other's romantic chaos, and honestly, our commentary was probably more entertaining than the actual situations themselves.

The thing about living with girls is that everything becomes a group activity, whether you plan it or not. Someone's having a breakdown? It’s all hands on deck, giving advice and cheering them up. Someone needs to cook dinner? Suddenly we're all in the kitchen (because they know I don’t cook). And of course Anna's dragging that giant speaker from room to room because apparently silence is not an option in this house.

And God, the conversations we had—they happened everywhere in that house, but especially on our front porch. That space was sacred in and of itself. Every Saturday morning, without fail, we'd drag ourselves out there with Chick-fil-A breakfast or Boichik bagels, still in whatever pajamas we'd swapped the night before, just happy being there together. Some of my favorite memories are from those mornings, recapping the night before and deliriously, jokingly, speaking our own language that truly only comes with living together. 

But the real magic happened during those 2 AM kitchen talks where you're all just standing around, supposed to be going to bed, but somehow end up having the most honest conversations of your life. I think that's what made this house special. We created this space where vulnerability wasn't scary. Where you could admit you have no idea what you're doing, or that you're terrified about the future, or that you feel like everyone else has their shit together except you. And instead of judgment, you get eight other girls saying, "Oh my God, same."

There's something about being seen and understood by your girlfriends that feels different from any other kind of relationship. These girls know me better than I know myself half the time. They can tell when I'm in a weird mood before I even realize it, and they always know whether I need a pep talk or just someone to sit with me while I complain about everything.

And now it's over. We're all scattered to different places for the summer, and next year we'll be living in different houses, with different people, starting different chapters of our lives. The Oasis era is officially closed.

But here's what I realized as I was packing up my room, and again right now as I’m writing this: what we built there wasn't just about the house. It was about learning how to love each other well. How to show up for each other.

These girls taught me that female friendship isn't just about having fun together, though we definitely did that. It's about becoming better versions of yourselves because you're constantly surrounded by people who believe in your potential, even when you don't. It's about having a support system that feels more reliable than anything else in your life.

I know we'll stay close. I know we'll visit each other and group FaceTime, and eventually have chaotic reunions where we all try to relive our Oasis glory days. But I also know it'll never be quite like this again. And that's okay. That's what made it special—it was this perfect, unrepeatable moment in time when nine girls needed each other and somehow found each other.

So here's to our house. Here's to the place that taught me what unconditional love looks like when it comes from your friends. Here's to Julia, Pia, Megan, Kaitlyn, Isabelle, Makenzie, Natalie, and Anna—the girls who made my junior year truly memorable.

And here's to every girl reading this who has found her people, or is still looking for them. When you find your house full of girls who make you feel like home, hold onto it tight. Because there's nothing quite like it in the world.

Tara