Spring brings warmth, testing, and goodbyes. 

Senior year did not measure up to my expectations. We all expect grand celebrations, long car rides with the windows down, and raging parties. It’s Senior year: the last stand, the final bow. “Go out with a bang!” they tell me. “You won’t regret it.” 

And yet, the nostalgic sparkle was never really there. 

At its core, Senior year is a transition. A taste of freedom as we celebrate the end of our high school career. 

Graduation marks a beginning – a moment we’ve spent years working toward, from late-night study sessions to early-morning practices. It is a moment of recognition. A right of passage.  

It just takes 10 months to get there. There are still credits to complete, tests to take, and a never–ending list of assignments. 

Paired with college applications, personal essays, and scholarships, senior year’s glam is tainted with a rush of deadlines and reminders, fingers aching from the marathon at the keyboard. 

I’m grateful for my time as a senior – the significance, the leadership, the opportunity. However, with senioritis and a lack of spontaneity, the anticipation outweighed the experience. It’s just another year of high school, sprinkled with the pledge of adulthood and university.

College is high school’s reward, a new promise waiting just around the corner. At a glance, higher education is decorated with dorm life and a chance at freedom. It’s hard to maintain a sense of dedication when we’re all itching to move on, wanting to get to the next step of adulthood. 

There’s this cultural norm to move out after graduating high school. Everyone craves to abandon their childhood bedroom, with the teal walls and pink sheets. We yearn for a life away from Los Osos High School, away from Rancho Cucamonga. 

We look for the escape, a liberation crammed into invisible cracks. 

However, in this quest for independence, we ignore the time we have left. 

We ignore Mom’s smile. Dad’s laugh. Chicken stir-fry on the stove. 

After moving out, we lose time. Birthdays, holidays, celebrations, achievements, failures. 

Performances, concerts, soccer games, dances, dates. 

Memories made, stories told. You’ll hear about them through phone calls, clutching fragments of your brother’s voice as he tells you about his day. You’ll like a post on Instagram and wish your dad a happy birthday. You’ll watch a video recording of your mom’s show and clap after every scene – an audience of one, a country away. 

It’s hard to process – that I’m missing out on the rest of my brother’s childhood. I’ve been there for all of it, every scraped knee and standing ovation. I’ve screamed at him. I’ve hugged him. We’ve slept in the same bed, made inside jokes, and played spies in the living room. 

I’ll be there at his high school graduation. I’ll hear all about his college decisions, the cast lists, his teachers. 

But, outside of the phone calls and Instagram posts and videos, that’s all I have to hold on to. That’s all I have to continue to exist in my family’s day-to-day. 

So many seniors are faced with the expectation of leaving. Move out, grow up – high school’s done. 

But it’s important to remember the whimsical rush of a life once had – the memories will serve as a cure for homesickness. 

So, before you pack your bags and rush to college, take the time to memorize every aspect of the life you have now. 

The way your bedroom floor creaks beneath your feet. The way your house smells when chicken stir-fry is on the stove. The way Mom smiles and Dad laughs.

Cling to the reminders of childhood, a fleeting existence of creativity, freedom, and life. 

Cling to the reminders of home.