We’ve been saying the same things all year: omfg I can’t believe we’re graduating like wtf guys we’re going to college fuck COLLEGE.
It’s finally here, that sweet sweet taste of freedom (not to be cliché or anything), that ever-elusive whiff of youth’s insouciance and recklessness, something hard to come by in our narrowly focused lives. Up until now. We’ve got it, we’re scraping our fingertips against it, feeling the smoothness of our diplomas and breathing in, deeply, that adrenaline-drenched atmosphere of graduation. Have you got those butterflies in your stomach? That light-headed sense of disbelief? I kind of feel like this when I imagine my perfect future, hot Korean boyfriend and all. Our potential is immense; our opportunities multiply as we take advantage of the ones we are given.
Anyway. It’s been a tumultuous four years for me (and I’m sure just about everyone else). The life lessons—learning to navigate the awkwardness of what used to be a friendship, getting over the immaturity of teenage boys, and and learning to stop pretending that I like those I don’t (all the while trying to remain gracious)—have been invaluable. All the suffering was worth it just for those few moments of unadulterated happiness, like weirdly finding myself enjoying a class, or having a chill conversation with a favorite teacher.
These halls… I walk through them now, kind of melancholy and nostalgic, trying to memorize every ugly cement pillar, the words scratched into the backs of doors in the bathroom stalls, the pattern of the hopelessly worn carpet, the faces of haggard and under-appreciated teachers. (Why would anyone put carpet in the hallways of a high school?) My recollection is like a slow-motion movie, exaggerated and with loud, swaying music. It’s ironic, really, because I still hate this school. I hate teenagers (generally), and I hate the silly rules and politics of Clovis Unified, I hate the pomp and circumstance and sense of importance and entitlement so characteristic of my school and my city; I truly never want to come back. I feel obligated, though, to commemorate it in some way. I could distance myself and say I don’t care, that it doesn’t matter, but that wouldn’t be realistic because honestly, I spent almost a quarter of my life here. It should have some significance.
I’m not really sure what to make of my feelings. I am happy that I’m moving three thousand miles away. Ha!
Not once have I encountered a soft green meadow.
Printed words lie about lying down. Grass is never velvety or tender in the promised prescribed manner. Hence the colloquial term “blades” of grass. That’s true. Grass is composed of nasty little daggers.
Every summer, I find myself believing that maybe, just this time, it’ll be different. It’s May, but here in my hometown it already feels like summer. The weather is beautiful. We never hurt from want of sunlight. In fact, it is more frequently the complete opposite. It is h o t. Fifteen minutes is enough to sizzle your skin.
So when I saunter down the sidewalk in my carefully manicured suburban neighborhood, I am always taken aback by how inviting the grass appears. I know it will itch like a son-of-a-bitch. I know I will regret it. Yet time and time again, I throw caution to the winds (along with my backpack), settle down on the mother-fucking grass, and pretend that I enjoy it.
The thing is, often times I actually do. I get these angry red bumps along the backs of my knees and scratch for the next half-hour, but there are moments when I am just so… happy. There’s this peaceful contentment that comes from flinging away my eighteen years of inhibition and good sense to kick back onto the grass, and communicate with the sky. It’s the most profoundly serious thing in the world to do, because it is just me and the whisper of leaves overhead and a twinkle of sunlight playing with shadows on your face.
You forget about the numbers ticking away and you remember what it means to be human, that creature cursed with the faculty of imagination. It’s just you on the grass, sprawled out like an animal.
It’s a good feeling.
(Source : 01verve.tumblr.com )
