On July 31st, the clock read 11:59:59. This date symbolizes my last second devoid of stressors. Not that my junior year summer wasn’t filled with plenty, but with Common Application now being issued as “opened,” the term stressor to define my senior year would be an understatement.
As of Nov. 1, the personal 650-word essay inhabiting Google Docs is vacant. Not being able to use my time to conjure up a redundant trauma dump of the last 18 years of my life, I instead utilize those hours writing 1,000-word papers for Dual Enrollment English and spending my Tuesday afternoons in a conference room discussing the intricacies of Homecoming.
Preceding my last year of traditional school, I was a 12-year-old girl replete with anxiety disguised as an optimistic look into the future. I remember the rigorous to-do lists crumbled across my room and pictures of UCLA and NYC spread across the carpeted floor that previously belonged to my now dismantled vision board before me changing my mind as to what I want to be when I grow up — the question that booms in every child’s ear. Although I have yet to conclude, I knew that my inner perfectionist and my obscure dream needed to be fed with hard work.
Recently, I decided to rummage through Orange Park High’s yearbook from 25 years ago. As I looked at pictures of Homecoming Court and the days surrounding our annual “Raider Roar,” I took in the carefree smiles. Instead, I misapprehended it as a feeling of insouciance. I contemplated the variety of former students who looked like they had it more manageable, and I wondered if the burden was me. We’re both seniors on the way to college, so why couldn't my exasperation during the Senior activities make for that effect?
As the anticipation and excitement for Homecoming grew even more prominent, I was instead strained with planning the night, as I proposed the Homecoming theme should be set to pay homage to the theme chosen 25 years ago — Hawaiian — to commemorate the Class of 2025.
Today’s attire consists of traditional plaid pajama pants paired with Crocs. If we’re lucky, the perforated shoes are adorned with charms. This style and critiques regarding it are not something students are blind to; however, the need to be shod in jeans and lace-up shoes at 7 a.m. is not something the student body finds necessary.
Themes like “Dress like your student’s day” or “teacher-student swap day” became popular themes during Homecoming Week in their satirical regard to this style. But because of its popularity and constant recycling every year, the student government, where I serve as our “25 Historian,” wished to try something different. This included Luau Day, which we decided to incorporate as a Spirit Day instead of the dance theme, and Throwback Day, where each class dressed as their decade, which was assigned by our charge.
Getting the opportunity to become a representative for my peers is not something I could have imagined during my four years spent homeschooling up to my junior year. To make up for the time lost, I decided to participate in various clubs assisting with accumulating community service hours and the worries of a humdrum resume. As I sit writing this and my ears ringing with the clanked sound of typing, my dream that I unknowingly spent my years working toward has come true. The pressures of not getting into universities noted with a 3% acceptance rate and the worries of a mediocre college essay have now faded as I realize that the surface ideas that come with being a senior have a heavyweight — only because I had made no attempts to lighten it and remove the fears brought upon by life after high school.
With the limited leisure time I have, I now spend my time writing, which reflects my future career as a journalist.
Attempting to put myself into categories until I found the best fit was how I spent my high school tenure. Still, I now choose to spend the remainder of my senior year understanding that I will end up where I’m supposed to be and that my hard work has not gone to waste as I sit here now, countering the process and the journey that led me to an understanding of myself.
My optimism is no longer a disguise.
