Quick side note first: I get to write 3 posts today so if you see that days 32-34 are kinda terrible – sorry, I’m writing these all together at night.
Today was the last day of high school. The last few days have been filled with AP exams and signing yearbooks. It really hasn’t struck me that I will never return to the hallowed halls of Alpharetta High school ever again or see a majority of the people who signed my yearbook again. I’ve had many yearbooks throughout the years, every year in elementary and middle school, and this year’s. For some reason, it has become a tradition for people to sign each other’s yearbooks, as a way to remember other people.
In elementary school, this consisted of the abbreviation HAGS written a million times preceding a name. After a while, “have a great summer” wasn’t cutting it anymore and middle school, a very middle school thing happened where everyone tried to be different and do their own special thing to sign each other’s yearbooks and it all ended up sounding the same, messes of nonsensical jokes and abbreviations trying to overemphasize the emotions involved with the end of the year. We all knew that we would see the owners of the books we were signing in less than 3 months, so there wasn’t much to say. Yet, being middle schoolers, we thought there was a lot to say and wrote (relatively) long messages of nothingness.
In high school, I wondered what I would see and what looking at the signatures in my overpriced yearbook would bring me. I asked only a few people to sign my yearbook – mainly people that I interacted with with a certain degree of regularity or had known for a long while – I don’t think I came close to filling up the blank pages like I used to. I thought that maybe my peers, some of which I had known for 11 years, and my teachers would write something meaningful and make me remember how much I enjoyed my high school experience. With a couple of exceptions, I found a ton of fairly long messages that very clearly felt forced. At this point, it was expected that you write a long message because there wouldn’t be a next year. The vapid messages I found made me think about how forgettable I was. Nearly every message, including the ones by my teachers, could’ve been written for anyone. I want to end this post with some sort of deep insight that I can leave you, the readers, with, but I have no idea what I learned from this. I’m just a little disappointed by it.