At The End Of The Day

Normally, this would be the blog in which I inform everyone of my woe-tide life in hopes for some obligated sympathy. But right now, considering this stage in a teenager's life is not about how much my family sucks, or why my teachers hate me, or the aliens who tried to cut me open in lieu of a better understanding of a lesser lifeform. It is about graduation.

As many of you know, I was not going to walk. I did not feel it necessary to shell out money to do the whole blah, blah, blah, you've all heard (or rather, read) me rant about this one numerous times. I am walking now, however, and not through my own devices. Tina Fallon and Jane Palmer banded together and against all adversity (in other words, my stupidity and stubbornness) convinced me to walk. They even paid for it. So, on the one hand, I didn't have to pay for it, which is what I was protesting. On the other hand, someone had to pay for it, which is what I was protesting.

But as Mrs. Fallon stated to me, it's not about anyone or anything but me and how I felt. Getting up on that stage and being handed that symbollic diploma cover because we are apparently not to be trusted with our actual diploma until we turn in our cap and gown, is sure to be one of the greatest feelings on the face of this planet. I just wish I was valedictorian or some other person that can make a speech, so I can look my mom right in the eye while on stage and say "I told you I wasn't worthless." That'd just be kickass.

Again, I digress. This isn't about my mother. When Mrs. Fallon said that to me, that it was only about me, I actually stopped to think about how I would feel if I didn't walk. Sure, I'd be proud for standing up in what I believed in, but it would eventually dwindle down to regret. While I realize it's only symbolic of one actually graduating, there's just something about participating alongside everyone, hearing the watered-down version of pretty much every valedictorian speech from movies, and not being allowed to cheer for your friends for finally making it that gives you a warm happy feeling inside.

Ever since I was little, one of my goals would be to do the robot once I accepted my diploma onstage. And now, I realize that is completely asinine and immature. Which usually doesn't stop me, but this time it will, because it is also coupled with the "impossibility" factor. See, there's no possible way for me to do the robot onstage when I accept my diploma, because as I have stated before, it's only a diploma cover. The actual diploma is given to us after the ceremony, backstage where no one can see you, only after you give back your cap and gown.

Which basically kicks every movie stereotype, expectation and cliche back to Narnia, I suppose, but at the same time it kicks out a tiny bit of the authenticity.

I don't think I'm ready, honestly. Ready to leave, that is. I will, I won't try and fail just to stay in high school a couple more days, but it means I'll be thrust directly into life. And while I've learned, on my own and harshly, may I add, to rely on myself and not those I lived with, at the same time I've been taught by other people to lean on others.

As I step away from the halls of education and toward the American workforce, I look back with fond memories of high school, sad feelings at what I'm leaving behind, and regrets for the opportunities I've missed.

As I near the goals I seek, I look onward with blurred hope, cautious anticipation, and great apprehension for my future.

And at the end of the day, I go to sleep thinking of the present, leaving behind all my worries and fears.