Under Pressure

Time doesn't fly. It crawls – that is until you hit high school.

Last week, I took my AT Statistics final – it was kind of fun TBH. Everyone the period before gathering in the library last minute studying, everyone at the lunch table freaking out and screaming "I'm cooked" or "It's over for me", everyone quizzing each other.

It felt like a community – like we were all in this together. Cooked together. Some people were maybe burnt.

The test was located in Gym A where the rockclimbing wall was, starting at 12:20 PM sharp. Rows of desks, arranged in precise lines, filled the space, each one equipped with a hard plastic chair that felt too low. The tests were already distributed, each one with a post-it note with our names written on it. Juniors waddled in nervously with their pencil cases. Seniors looked like they just woke up (they probably did).

No instructions were given by the teachers. Just a "You may begin".

Two hours went by. Papers were collected. We left.

I didn't realize until the next day that that was the first of the last few finals that people actually cared about. There's a reason the seniors woke up 15 minutes before the test; there's a reason some of them walked in late; there's a reason most of them handed their papers in early. After four long years, they can finally rest – at least a little bit.

It's scary to think that I'm next. Yes. Just scary.

Since 9th grade, I've gotten a little taller, my voice a little deeper, shoe size a little bigger.

But I still dress the same. Hoodies and sweatpants never seem to go wrong. My middle part remains as parted as it was years ago, and most importantly, I still feel like a kid. I'm still pretty emotional, impulsive, messy, and above all – stupid.

Mom told me that college is where you grow up, so maybe these feelings (and these basic outfits) are still justified, but time really is running out. In a little over 365 days, I'll be graduating.

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My brother is currently a freshman in college. He's legally an adult, but I wonder if he's truly become one. I wonder if, at this coming Thanksgiving, he'll still sit with me and all the other family friends' children in the coffee room – the "kids' table". I wonder when he'll make the change. I wonder if he'll ever want to.

I still think he's pretty stupid.

So maybe he'll still be here. A man at a boy's table. Maybe that's okay. Maybe he's allowing himself to grow up at his own pace without feeling rushed, resisting the pressure of time.

Perhaps there's a comfort in the present. Despite the inevitable changes that come with growing up, there's a certain solace in the constancy of oneself in that moment.

Maybe it's indeed possible to live in the future. Maybe the same goes for the past as well – but is it worth it? Is it worth losing sleep ruminating over your failures? That one date you messed up? That one test you failed? Is it worth frantically worrying about what's next to come? Senior year? Is it worth it when you miss time truly living?

All we can do is look forward to it.

They say live in the present. Maybe because it's all we've really got.