In two days my eyes will be drooping with spectacular drowsiness, my nails will be bitten until every cuticle is raw and my fingers will fumble over my laptop’s keyboard as I attempt to find the password that will unlock my fate for the next four years. In the weeks to come, months of speculation and anticipation will culminate with a series of emails, finally giving me an answer to what has become the omnipresent question of, “So, where are you going to college next year?”
This question has marked my senior year from August, before anyone had any way of possibly knowing the answer, to January where I avoided it at all costs, to the months to come where my future self, clad in co-opted sweats and other garb, can proudly answer with a smile. In its simplicity, it has just acted as a conversation starter, allowing adults to bridge the generational gap with one phrase. However, as the end of high school nears, this concept, and this question have become beautifully complicated.