Transitioning: Life as a senior in high school

Aishwarya | Date: Sep 27, 2024, 10 PM | Last Updated: Sep 27, 2024, 9:32 PM

Until last semester I could say that I am still a kid and that I still have time to figure things out about my life, and what comes next, but I can no longer say that. Even until just a few weeks ago, I was in my grade 11 summer, enjoying life. Now, I am in grade 12, with university applications opening in about 2 months, and without a single idea about what comes next. 

This morning, we had our grade assembly, which doubled on the pressure that I was already feeling. Our principal said, “The day you turn 18, is the day I stop negotiating with you.” That’s when it hit me. He continued on and on about what is right and wrong to do as a senior student, and how after these 4 years in our school, the younger students now look up to us as role models, just like how we did when we were younger. 

I am finally starting to realize that maybe adulthood isn’t all that great. That maybe being a senior isn’t all that amazing. That it isn’t all smooth sailing. And I am finally starting to realize that I need to accept things like how yesterday was my last first day of school. How today was the last time I would be taking a photo for our yearbook and an ID certifying me as a student of our school. How having spares feel so weird. How walking the hallways comes with knowing that I am a senior now and won’t be here next year. How I would be in a completely new chapter of my life, away from home, parents, and friends, around this time next year. How decisions that I make right now shape the way the rest of my life is going to look like. And How grade 9 feels like yesterday even though it wasn’t. 

All of this is so funny and hard on me at the same time. In that sense, have I really transitioned to grade 12? Not really. It is scary, and I feel like I am stuck in time in a world that is moving too fast. It is overwhelming. Life as a senior in high school is not fun, like how I imagined it to be when staring at the seniors when I was younger. They truly were my role models, and I am amazed at how they made me feel that way, despite having been in the same place I am here right now. 

Imagine. Imagine being in a household where your family constantly urges you to get into university, since it is better than college, since you can make more money that way. I am sure it is not far off from the truth for many of you. The misconceptions, the family pressure, and the confusion, all get too much sometimes. When you have nothing you know about what comes next, you give in. You, “go with the flow,” as I would often say. What does that really mean? Giving up and not trying to figure out anymore, just doing what others make you do? 

Although I know that “going with the flow,” doesn’t mean much in reality, I still willingly give in to it. I still give in to wanting to feel that all of this isn’t just going to be me messing up real bad this time, so much that my life would be beyond repair. 

Coming back from the summer comes with a whole ton of holy mess. A holy mess of getting back into routine, of previous learning that you have forgotten by this point, of things that you need to accept, of big decisions that need to be made, and of you. The you, that you need to keep in check constantly, in order to keep from falling apart from the pressure of all of this. Just imagining the embarrassment from it is enough to scare me. Enough to make me delusional. Enough to make me want to be delusional. 

“Delusional: characterized by or holding false beliefs or judgments about external reality that are held despite incontrovertible evidence to the contrary, typically as a symptom of a mental condition,” a definition by oxford languages, according to google. 

My delusional self says to myself, “Everything is going to be okay.” “The flow will carry me somewhere nice and safe.” “Maybe there is a god or something that would help me.” “Maybe it won’t be as bad as I am thinking.” But then, my anxiety spirals out of control of the delusional me and then reminds me, “It is the worst case scenario, but you know that worst case scenarios are often the case with you.” “You know you can’t call yourself lucky,” it yells as loudly as a goddamn… I don’t even know what to compare it to. 

I am scared. I am scared. I am scared. I am scared. I am scared. 

I feel like I am drowning. I feel like I am drowning. I feel like I am drowning. 

I wish that I could stop time. Stop time. Stop time. Just stop, please, time! 

Then, someone suggested something to me. “Why don’t you make a pinky promise?” Seriously? What help would a pinky promise be? That is what I immediately thought. “I am not a child,” was the next. “What do I do for it?” My delusion spoke optimistically, thinking that it may be of some miraculous help. She told me that it was not a promise to be made to anyone, but yourself. “This is so stupid.” I was not going to do that. 

The next moment, I find myself linking my two pinkies to each other. For a second, I felt like time stopped, and reverted back to the days when I didn’t find pinky promises childish or immature.

“No matter what happens, I will give this my very absolute best, without letting anything hold me back. And in the end, if I am not accomplished and amazing, and living in poverty, I would not have any regrets, since I gave it my all.” 

Such a simple thing really. A pinky promise. The amount of trust we had on something like this when we were kids was gigantic, then why do I no longer do it? It was so simple. Something so simple as a promise lifted the rock that was stuck in my throat. Lifted the heavy rocks off my back. And although I still have shoulder pain and back pain - possibly from the weight of my heavy backpack -  it is getting better, since the promise. Since the promise, I am no longer carrying things I don’t need, and focusing only on what I need at the moment and not what I may… what might… what could…