I watched Past Lives last night with my wife and it’s still on my mind. The film is about Nora, married and in her 30s, who reconnects with a childhood sweetheart. For me, it isn’t so much a story about long lost romantic love, but about the pieces of our past that make us who we are, and feeling known.
A couple months ago I ate lunch with a childhood friend from the small town in Illinois where I grew up. I’m pretty disconnected from everyone I knew back then, from before I moved to California. Not many in my life now really know that Andy, the kid from Champaign. Spending time with this old friend, though, was comforting. She doesn’t really know who I am now, doesn’t really care about what I’ve accomplished. But she knows me, the kid from Champaign, and still cares about me. I went home that night and told my wife all about it, all the old memories I’d forgotten, trying to describe to her who I used to be. I wasn’t sad, but an ache lingered in my heart. I would laugh and find the tears swelling up. I imagine Nora might have felt similarly in that moment when she cried as her childhood love drove away.
It’s not that I want to go back to that version of me. I like who I am today. I’ve evolved and matured. I’m a different person. But at night in my dreams, I always seem to be back in Champaign, riding my bike on Winchester Dr, heading to Addie’s house, hanging out at Skate Land. It can be hard when it feels like no one else remembers those places the way I do. It can feel lonely.
A mentor of mine said to me, “I’ve been at least five different people in my lifetime… you only know the man I am today.” I’m a stranger to his past lives. But those old versions of ourselves don’t want to be forgotten and erased. They still matter. I think sometimes, those old parts of us long to be seen, remembered, and valued, for everything we’ve been. It reminds me that we’re still slowly pulling ourselves together, longing to be whole.
Andrew Min 