One.
Two.
Three.
Four.

Blink, and it’s over.

At least that’s what I wanted it to be like. But my high school experience was not a quick little montage of blissful memories that could be played as the theme song to my life, instead it was my purgatory.

For context purposes, I’ll flash back to the kid I was entering my freshman year: awkward, chubby, confused and excited. Oh how eager I was to take on the world of high school, so fascinated by the illusion of freedom and the overly complicated course loads. I made a list of goals I hoped to accomplish before graduating, a sort of “high school bucket list” that I tried my best to stick to.

On top of that mountain of aspirations was the plan to graduate top 25 students in my class and I quickly surpassed that target my sophomore year. I became fully absorbed in the cut-throat cycle of competitive academia. I stopped learning and started plotting. I aced it all: every exam, every class, gradually climbing toward the top of class ranks. I scheduled my courses based on multipliers, divided and conquered my classes amongst intricate collections of like-minded students, manipulated the system to work in my favor and broke most of my own morals along the way.

Although I hit my official academic standstill thanks to AP Calculus killing my perfect GPA senior year, I did indeed get to cross off a hefty number of my goals. I managed to play hookie like in all the classic American films, weaseled my way into friendships and played devil’s advocate with other people’s problems. Sure, I was still that nerdy kid who excelled in the structured regimen of monotonous schooling, but I was also the one who sought out my own cynical adventure.

I put all of my energy into surpassing the failure I feared to be and besides my fancy toward a good old-fashion competition, I knew succeeding academically meant a ticket out of the hole I dug for myself.

Perhaps my time in school would have been more enjoyable with the company of friends, if not more pleasant than at least easier, but I formed very few friendships. I stuck myself in between the same four friend groups and quickly found myself bored of my peers. I even went as far as coining the term “school friends” to make up for my lack of relationships outside of classes.

I became a living paradox: an anti-social extrovert.

I lived my life in the spotlight at school, carried the weight of my world and spared no time to make meaningless friendships. Despite what I might imply, I loved my life; having no friends made it much less challenging to focus solely on myself and my future.

In an effort to not be entirely socially isolated, I became a professional actor at school. I made small talk, collaborated on assignments and entertained my peers with perfectly curated anecdotes. And because I could barely scratch the surface of an intellectual conversation when conversing with students my own age, I started befriending my teachers.

I felt like an intruder at school with my not so eloquent understanding of social cues and inability to idly sit through the repetition of chit chat throughout my classes. So, I enslaved myself with my new persona and found that it was a catch-22. On one hand, I built up quite a substantial resume but, on the other, there was always a poisoned dagger lingering above my head.

Although I realized it would be much less painful to leave school behind if I had no roots tying me down, I still managed to become entangled.

The third day of my junior year I asked my counselor for a schedule change. After a scuffle and some bargaining on my behalf, I convinced her to place me into a new class. At the time, I was unaware of any open slots for students in electives during that period, but thanks to one of the few connections I had, I ended up in newspaper.

Never did I think it would be a class I would look forward to every day, but slowly and surely I did. Both confused and out of my element, I was determined to grasp the ropes and steer the ship. Newspaper gifted me a safe place to be a curious student and to challenge myself. It soon became my home zone where I ate, laughed, complained and learned to seek out advice.

To that special connection: Thank you. Thanks for everything. Without you, I would still be stuck in that hell hole. You’ve been my rope throughout my years in Texas. My juxtaposition. Your knots have untwined as we tested our elasticity, and I’ve relied on you more than you probably realize. You’re the reason I’m not completely antisocial, why I don’t full-heartedly dislike school and why I’ve stayed connected all this time. Despite my rambles about rope burns, I’ll forever appreciate our twine together. Although the fibers connecting us are soon to break, I’ll make sure to braid a piece of you and keep it for memories sake.

Farewell to all.

There’s only one goodbye left to give. You’ve never been my cup of tea, perhaps it’s because you’re so full of yourself. You’re too vast to describe; you’re filled with many bittersweet emotions and memories. My hatred for you has reigned for quite some time, but I’ll try to remain nostalgic when I think of you.

The strange kid who walked into these halls is finally moving on. I’m following Taylor Swift’s footsteps and shedding my snake skin. It’s a whirlwind time in my life and I’m finally ready to unleash my chains.

Yee-haw Texas, eat my grass.