We’ll Call it, Senior Year!


Contributed by Yearbook

Diana Garza and friends at Friday night Football game.

Diana Garza, Co-Editor in Chief/Webmaster/Co-Sports Editor

There is a sacredness in experiencing the nearness of beauty. It happens when 8:00 a.m. isn’t just the morning, but the inhale of dewy air and soft sun against the skin. It’s those fractions of time when staring at the sunset you search for where orange ends and purple begins. These rare moments make the idea of life feel intimate, simple, and uncomplicated. But they also illustrate the vastness of existence. While high school seems as if in direct violation of the Earth’s essence, even in the vain institution, beauty is near. 

My time at Selma High has been anything but shapely, influential, or accumulated to “the best years of my life.” Looking back all I see are stress-fests and insecurities. However, I’m not ignorant to the fact that during this time I’ve established forever relationships. I know that what’s become in high school is not something to reflect on, but to nurture and grow into a cherished part of my soul. 

There’s nothing in the seven hour days or football games that I’ll miss; nothing I’ll urge underclassmen to not take for granted. Rather, I urge people to not take themselves so seriously. It’s not that I regret the sleepless nights and anxiety—it’s brought me to where I want to be—but I’m angry at their necessity. I guess I really just urge impulsivity, because it’s easy to become warped by ego. 

As senior year comes to an end, I’ve learned to embrace my own impulsivity. A big part of that was being away from school for so long—which was personally marvelous. I only had three real years of high school, and it did not pass in the blink of an eye. If anything, school dragged and I questioned why I couldn’t just be in bed. Yet, I genuinely enjoy learning. There is an honest loveliness in exploration. I don’t mean learning in terms of five paragraph essays or the pythagorean theorem, but in terms of the beauty of connecting humanity through decades of opinions and experience.

High school also brought me friendship. So, while the concept of senior year may be pointless, my two best friends, Reyna and Alondra, are anything but. I’m thankful for the singularities that exist within us, that they can be fundamentally perceived by each other. Our tears and laughter are brilliant and sacred, because they project the principles of life, acceptance. Our relationships aren’t stagnant, just like high school isn’t stagnant. 

As my friends and I continue to evolve, high school will continue to be an adolescent pit stop. High school isn’t a sacred place of clichéd  patterns or famous firsts, it’s an illusion of adolescent glory. We shouldn’t analyze these spots in time, fixating on reminiscing, but acknowledge the experience with fondness. There is so much more life to live than four awkward years of pitiful conformity. High school may be ruled by grades and “identity,” but at the core we’re all humans first. 

So, stop hounding yourself on perception and project your own sincerity. It’s not the outcome of a test, or the raging rallies that constitute high school, but the life adjacent to vivacity. Beauty is near when time is still and my friends’ rolling laughter radiates excitement. It’s near when my teachers are energetic, and enthusiastic about the concepts they share and catalyze. 

Senior year is certainly mundane, but it is laced with vibrancy that reminds me to live.