I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. And I did. That’s why I had to listen to “This Ain’t Goodbye” by Train (which is under the Music tab) on repeat for twenty minutes, to tell myself that it isn’t goodbye. I don’t know if I’m lying to myself or not but I really hope I’m not.
Tonight, I had to not only give a good-bye speech to my team, but I also had to watch them say good-bye to me. We were going away, and college was right around the corner. College: the new opportunity for successes. High school: the one place I want to leave. High School friends: the people I never want to let go.
Most of you right now may think that I’m being too sappy and to get over it, because I’ll make new friends soon. High school is a phase, where you should want to leave because you’ll no longer be held down by self-absorbed people and overbearing parents. You’re right. I do want to leave high school.
But not like this. All I’ve done this whole year is complain about how much I want to leave and get out of this small town. To be honest, I’m scared.
When you graduate, you’re leaving everything that has supported you behind: your family, your friends, your history. I’ve spent years with these people, and don’t categorize them as the usual clique group that you spend your time sitting in the lunch room with and going to parties with on the weekend. These are people who I’ve both loved and hated and have both loved and hated me. These are the people who knew me inside and out, well enough to make fun of me without insulting me. These are the people who know you best, who will ride those roller coasters with you. And there’s no end to the roller coaster; it just keeps going. But they’re there for you.
And they’re no longer going to be there anymore. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, and I did. High school was a dump and I didn’t like it that much. But the people weren’t. They taught me lessons without actually teaching me and they made me laugh without making any jokes.
Next year, I don’t know if I’ll have those people who can do the same for me. It’s my comfort pillow and I always want to keep my comfort pillow. They’ll be in different time zones and in different states and countries and in ten years, I don’t know if I’m going to ever remember them.
That’s what I’m most scared about. It’s not necessarily leaving them, but it’s forgetting them. When your mom makes you donate your teddy bear that you’ve been sleeping with since you were two years old, you won’t cry because you loved the teddy bear; you’ll cry because you loved the history.
And I don’t want to forget that history. Ever.