El Fin del Colegio

I truly believe that I had one of the best high school experiences in the history of time, which makes saying goodbye ridiculously hard. Trust me, I’m aware of how overdramatic this whole thing is going to sound, so please excuse the clichés and mushy-gushiness. And I know how many adults reading this would say “don’t worry, college is better than high school,” or “you’re still so young, high school won’t even matter in a few years,” or something along those lines. I’m not saying they’re wrong, nor am I saying that I’m not looking forward to college. I got into freakin’ Newhouse, which is one of the best communications schools in the country... How could I not be excited?! However, I’m the type of person who gets too attached to everything and everyone, which makes letting go one of my biggest struggles.

Even though I had the best high school experience I could ask for, it certainly wasn’t flawless. I went through the same teenage hormone issues as everyone else; actually, worse than most. In middle school, I felt like I was on top of the world, as a strong and independent girl who could take care of herself. I was in for a brutal realization that my DNA is not ideal, to say the least. I was diagnosed with a whole slew of disorders. Luckily, I’ve yet to face a seriously life-threatening disease (*knock on wood*).

Aside from these not-so-typical issues I experienced in high school, I was living the dream. I enjoyed getting to know almost every single one of my teachers, minus the weenies who took life a smidgen too seriously. I met some of the most carefree, hilarious human beings which I have the pleasure of calling my friends. I completely ditched the whole reputation thing, saying and doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. I decided that I wanted to be an honest and caring person whom people feel comfortable around, which was not always easy. I discovered how much I crave learning everything there is to know, while lacking the energy and motivation to do so. After having my fair share of failed teenage relationships, I fell in love with the most complicated one of them all. And here I am, at the end of my senior year, probably ignorantly wishful for things to work out in circumstances which are close to impossible.

The older I get, the more confused I am about myself. The more I see in the world, the more complicated everything seems. I can confidently say that I’ve always followed my heart in everything I’ve done, but recently it’s become harder to figure out what I truly want. Times like these, in which I am faced with an unavoidable decision, are what make me hate the idea of being an adult. I fear that every day my imagination dwindles, and that I’m going to become the type of person who takes life too seriously. I fear that I will start to care about the wrong things, such as wealth rather than human connections. I fear that I won’t be able to handle the inevitable disappointments which lie ahead, such as losing the people I care about so deeply. I miss people from high school already, and I still have a few days left. I miss the people I’ve grown apart from over the past four years. I dread the day when I have to call my current best friends “my high school friends”. I dread the day when my teachers won’t recognize my face, and when I won’t remember their names.

These are the reasons that I’ve been dreading graduation all year. I will never forget how many Penfield students strayed away from the concept of distinct immovable cliques, and I can only hope these people never forget me.

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