When I was younger, I never thought that I would make it to high school. The idea of me being a high school student seemed completely absurd, and yet, as my eighth grade graduation went from being years away to months away to days away, I realized that I couldn’t hide from the truth: Whether I liked it or not, I couldn’t remain a child forever. As soon as I reluctantly entered the realm of high school and became overwhelmed by swarms of essays and exams, that desire to hold onto my childhood slowly faded away, and I no longer had time to grieve over the impermanence of youth.
Now I’m a senior, less than two months away from my 18th birthday, and that desire to hold onto my childhood is returning. This year of school marks the beginning of the end, and that terrifies me. Wilton has been one of the foremost components of my life for the past 17 years, and I am afraid of leaving it behind and having to venture into the unknown, parting ways with Wilton and all the phenomenal people in it with whom I’ve formed life-changing connections. My senior year embodies this idea, and I hate it for that. I’ve been anxiously awaiting this moment for the past three years, and now that it’s finally here, I want to go back.