So there it is. One exam to write, one event to go and one mass left. Done. Finished, see you at the 10 year reunion. In the blink of an eye, senior year is over and it was every bit the emotional rollercoaster it was hyped up to be. Some will be glad it’s over, some not ready to leave and some will go to University for four years and come back to do it all over again but on the other side of the fence. It’s been four years of inside jokes, irritating habits, crushes on people you never thought you’d find attractive and spending six hours a day with the same people, day in and day out, for five years.
I suppose I write this for Charlotte. Partially because I know if I don’t she’ll keep bugging me for the next three weeks about when I’m going to write an emotional blogpost about year 12. I didn’t feel the emotions of senior year ending until last Friday night when, evidently, it all hit me at once and members of the year level collectively lost it in front of the local community. Tears streaming down my face, crying into teachers arms and professing my appreciation for some who probably already knew it, the end had finally arrived. In a year where more often than not we uttered the words “I hate our cohort” for one night, everyone was at peace and still with the each other. All the drama had been swept aside, all the thoughts of exams left in the study.
I myself am not a crier and it takes a lot to make a single tear well in my eyes. I heard things like “Are you really crying, Sonia?” “I didn’t know you were this sentimental” and “I never see you cry Sonia! This is so lovely, so nice to see” Upon reflection, the tears were a culmination of a years worth of hard work, stress, happiness, pride and contentedness. They were a realisation of the people I won’t see anymore, the people I wish would hang around a bit longer and the future I embark on with the ones that matter most.
There are memories from this year that will last a lifetime, that will make you cringe when they crop up in your ‘On This Day’ and people that made it everything it was. It is a year unique to every school with each having their own quirks to make the graduating class their own. Broken legs, toilet shelves and promposals translate to completely different meanings but each resonate, in some way, with the year we had.
If you have read A Letter to Year 11, you’ll know what senior year was like for me and the people it was spent with. I don’t need to write a post about how great a year it was because you can read that to find out. But, what I can write about, is the future. I don’t know what it will hold and, in a way, that’s the most exciting part. Yet, that sentence itself is paradoxical as I loathe being left in the dark with little control or little idea of what will be happening. The feeling of vulnerability from not knowing what is next.
There are moments when I’m set on becoming the next Amal Clooney and then there are moments where I’m set on packing a bag after university, getting a visa and working in a market in Italy. I think in the world of today, who says you can’t have it all? Who says you can’t be an international gymnast and a primary school teacher at the same time? Or an architecture student and a make up artist? Or, a 17 year old year 12 student writing for a fashion magazine? Evidently, the world is our oyster.
My point being, senior year for some has been the worst year of their life. They cannot wait to see the back of some people [and teachers], the back of the maroon blazers they’ve worn for the past five years and to try and see what the future holds. Like the last episode of MASH, you know it’s coming but you’re not quite ready for it and when it hits you, it hits you hard. In a way, this year is polarising. If anything, it made you question a lot like your passion, your friends and even yourself. Perhaps the tears were because all the questions were answered.
Some will read this and not find it applicable to them at all, and that is to be expected. Senior year won’t be the greatest year of your life for all and it won’t be happy every moment of everyday. It was relentless but only as relentless as you allowed it. I feel a little empty, like I’m waiting for holidays to finish and to go back to school.
But I’m not going back.
There’s nothing to wait for now.
This is life.