In my previous article, my editorial for the “senior column,” I commented on how frustrating it was deciding on a career path so early in life without having gained the appropriate experience in ANY of the fields I am interested in, other than, of course, high school “preparation.” I mentioned how quick my passions changed, and that I am currently on the “pre-med track,” but I now know I am to be majoring in biology at UCLA. Although this dilemma of overabundance of choice is definitely daunting and may prey on even the underclassmen (as it did for me), I must emphasize that things will get better. They MUST get better. Life will fall into place, and, as those who are education-oriented, perhaps seeking to matriculate to a top university in a competitive major, will become very aware of (maybe they already are), school work overwhelmingly distracts us from pondering these necessities. However, if there is ANY ADVICE I am to leave with the few who are interested enough to read this, it is that no matter that recent test score, regardless of how awful it feels to not be that top spot academically, or athletically, or to have not done as well on that AP exam as as you thought you would, and forgetting the pang of knowing you will have to deal with that one teacher next period, you will look back and laugh at these meaningless nuances of life with a near-comical remembrance.
My previous “senior column” was composed prior to my acceptance at UCLA (University of California, Los Angeles) and I also discussed how disorienting it was having to decide between the great choices I had already been presented with. I write this now, having submitted my SIR (“Statement of Intent to Register”) to UCLA, set up my university email, confirmed my financial aid, and attended “Bruin Day.” Still, EVERY TIME I receive an email from schools such as UC San Diego, or Riverside, or Davis, or Irvine, I wonder if I made the right decision, because— ultimately—the fact I was accepted to twelve of the thirteen colleges I applied to means THEY had an 8.333% of ME accepting THEM. Regardless, I ruminate on “what might have been”; who might I have met? What opportunities could have opened up to me at another place? I admit, these questions plague me, but I know I can succeed at my choice.
There has been immense pressure—overwhelmingly imposed by myself, admittedly—to academically thrive. Since elementary school, my heart would drop if I saw that dreaded red ink on my essays or math homework. That’s why I stayed up so late, even then, an eight-year-old, who already recognized college as a “school for big people,” to get as many points as possible on that stupid assignment that I can’t even remember now. Maybe I’m a perfectionist—it’s my curse. Yet that intrinsic motivation has been the thing that permitted me to be a part of the “Top 25” at Selma High, to be ranked third my senior year, and to get into the top public university in the United States (sorry Mr. Castle, for having made you read that—he’s an alumnus of UC Berkeley, if you don’t know), but for some reason it doesn’t seem all that great. In fact, it’s intimidating: being on the quarter system will inevitably serve as a major shock, there will be far higher expectations, I’ll be competing with some of the highest-achieving students in the WORLD, some of whom have taken over ten Advanced Placement (AP) courses, already authored research papers and created wondrous apps that will continue to propel society into the technological future. Then, there’s me, who’s taken seven of the nine APs Selma offers, played in some Varsity sports, and some other minor contributions to the world. David Bowie and Freddie Mercury said it well in “Under Pressure,” when singing “It’s the terror of knowing what this world is about,” since I have yet to experience any of that real-life nonsense. All this considered, I have to remember—I HAVE to—that I wouldn’t have been accepted if there wasn’t SOMEONE who believed in me, in my potential.
“Growing up doesn’t have to be a bad thing” is the title of this article. While the aforementioned is unequivocally highly pessimistic, with the exception of a few instances of positivity sprinkled in, I still love my life. It’s a cliché, “hackneyed,” if you will, “trite,” if you will, “banal,” if you will, but I would NOT trade it for ANYONE ELSE. Even as I compose this, with my hair falling out over the stress of impending AP exams that I feel very unprepared for (to say the absolute least), as I realize that I still have finals, and that I will soon be placed in an entirely different environment from that which I have known all my life, I know in give-or-take forty years, quite literally NONE of this will matter as much as I have MADE it matter. I still recall that moment when a teacher from ALMS warned me against overloading myself and for making the effort to balance my life, before Covid, and I continue to take that to heart.
I’ve still had my best moments so far in Selma: being able to write as “Klarissa” for The Clarion has been amazing; going to CVRSL (Central Valley Recreational Swim League) finals four times, hitting those three home runs in 50-70 baseball, playing soccer, and being tennis captain, and music (please forget about that talent show my freshman year), being a sports editor for the newspaper, and all-the-while being supported by an amazing family and a sometimes-frenemies, always-understanding friend group. I count my blessings.
Looking back on all that I’ve written here, I have begun to appreciate everything that I have accomplished as well. Instead of worrying so much about the next unit test or how I could have done better on the recent one, I have started looking farther into the future—to what REALLY matters, and, now, I see that it isn’t as bleak nor troubling as I once thought it to be, because I can overcome the challenges before me, and I have come to recognize that “growing up doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”
