Editorial by Emily Yu
500 words, ~2 minutes reading time
Issue 6 (Fall 2024)
As a child of poor immigrant parents, I grew up with somewhat of a hoarder mindset. Money was tight, so we tried to keep anything that might be useful again, whether it be an old shirt littered with holes or an empty margarine tub. Some of these things did receive a new life, but most did not—there’s only so many hex keys you need in one household.
We couldn’t always afford to replace expensive items, so fancy things were collected and not used, saved only for special occasions. Decades ago, my late grandma splurged on a pair of hearing aids, but they cost so much that she only wore them a few times per year and suffered through her hearing loss the rest of the time (bless her soul). Inevitably, I started to expand this mentality into my relationships—I wanted to keep people in my life forever. I was devastated when friends moved on, when they lost our BFF necklace from the fifth grade, when our birthdays were no longer celebrated together. All I focused on was the loss of a friend, not if I cherished them during our time together.
With personal growth and the experience of age, I learned that relationships aren’t possessions; they’re not trophies to hang on the wall. It’s healthy to let things go, including people. Especially people. But sometimes we don’t feel ready to do that, and sometimes we’ll never feel ready, and that’s okay. There are moments when the memory of an old friend will cross my mind: I wonder what she’s doing now, or I hope she’s well wherever she is. In a way, the relationships of the past never fully leave us, like pencil on a page—even after it’s been erased, there are still traces of it that remain. Beneath that cover-up tattoo, the original one lives on; no matter how much we hated it, it forms the foundation of the new one we love.
As you know, we love our long-term relationships at Heartlines Spec, but we also know that longevity does not promise forever. In this issue, we share stories of relationships that once were and some that still are. They remind me of the stars, with some bright in their prime, while others are burning hot supernovas before their demise. Maybe the light we lost circles back at the end, or maybe something new waits for us in the black hole left behind—we won’t know until we let go.
Nowadays, I no longer let my belongings collect dust on the shelf. I wear my fancy clothes, and I drink the classy wine, and I hope you’ll enjoy this issue in the same way, like a dessert to be savoured not saved, because today is the special occasion—you’re here. We’re here. That’s worth celebrating.