For many years people envision who they will become as a high school senior. I know for me, senior year was a milestone I could not wait for— not only did I believe it signified maturity, but it meant I was able to enter the real world. I had known the significance of the year “2024” since I wore those numbers on a shirt to my first day of kindergarten in 2012.
Who would I be? What would I do? What legacy would I leave behind? What would my classmates think of me? What would be my post-secondary plan?
I spent so many years counting down time, searching for answers to the questions that seemed so far away in a year so distant. I had older relatives and family friends who went through the graduation process, and I continued to count down my time.
When I reached high school, every year I would clap my hands together as each graduating class would have their final senior walkout. I had a sense of jealousy of their ability to leave the high school world behind and enter adulthood— and the real world.
Now, I am about to enter into the third trimester, my final trimester of high school. The little girl who thought this day would never come now feels it quickly approaching. Each moment signifies a last of something else: Last first day, last homecoming, last football game, last Charity Week. All year, these lasts have been something I wish I never wished for. As the moments dwindle down and the questions start to be answered, I wish I would’ve stopped. I wish I could’ve stopped and known that although the days feel long, the weeks are fast and the years are even faster.
You will know who you are. You will know your post secondary plan. All the questions that felt unanswered have now been answered. However, never again will we know the feeling of being a high school kid with our worries being whether or not tomorrow is an X-block day; never again will we be a high school kid worried about superficial drama and eagerly waiting for the bell to ring on Friday, symbolizing the weekend.
As I finally get what I’ve counted down for, my anxiety has heightened. I am anxious for the changes that inevitably come when we leave these school walls. While I know we are ready to make our marks on this world, I wish I would’ve taken in snack time in kindergarten, cherished recess where my only worry was pumping my legs on the swings. I wish I would’ve stayed for an extra minute to feel middle school, as the day the COVID-19 pandemic hit would be the last day I’d ever be a middle schooler. I wish I would’ve held onto being a underclassman and having upperclassman friends, and laughed through the hard tests of junior year.
My advice to anybody younger than me— and to myself and my peers— is to take it slow. Never again will we truly feel these childhood moments. As I prepare for one last trimester, I will hold onto each of my “lasts” for an extra minute longer.
