Last year, my final school-year blogpost was an acknowledgements-style list of thank you's, so let's do it again this year so that I can call it a tradition, shall we?
I still cannot start a list of thank you's without mentioning my father, who taught me to drive this year the way he used to teach me math: rubbing his temple with his left hand as though he was already fed up with the whole ordeal; scouring the internet hours after I'd fallen asleep, trying to learn how to be better from YouTube and Wikipedia; and yelling in a strange combination of Hindi and English I only partially understood. And my mother, who taught me everything else, from indecision to social awkwardness. She will probably always be the only person who understands the jokes I make, which probably says more about me than her, but...I suppose that's a dark reality I'll have to learn to live with.*
To my sister, who had the audacity to grow up behind my back sometime during the past three years, for teaching me how to manipulate our parents into doing what we want, and for making me laugh so hard I got a three-ish-pack (in certain lighting, okay).
To the girls, from whom I have learned every detail about Why Don't We's fight with their management against my will -- I hope we'll spend countless more late nights on the floor of a hotel bathroom shushing each other's whispers and countless more sunny days acting like narcissists because we finally found good lighting. But if not, thank you for knowing which of the glances I gave you were panicked and which were amused, and for blocking that weird guy from Panama on Insta when I was too scared to.
To my piano teacher, who has fully abandoned the guise of pretending to teach me piano, and has begun treating our weekly "lessons" like gossip and therapy sessions, where she gives me parenting advice in the form of complaints about her son, and I save all the best Taylor Swift songs on her phone so she can become as big a fan as I am.
And to the rest of my teachers throughout high school -- I will never be able to explain in words the infinite ways your existences make mine easier. A few weeks ago, Ms. Brewer was talking about how excited she gets when she learns something new, because after twenty years of teaching the same curriculum, it's rare. I realized then how incredibly lucky I am to have attended a school where, for four years, I have constantly been expanding my little brain. For the teachers who have orchestrated fake court cases to teach us about the Protestant Reformation to the ones who have played Kenny G. jazz music the day before the world shuts down, saying "I can teach you polar integration through Zoom, it'll all be fine, you guys," I can only paraphrase what Pete Buttigieg said in one of those chaotic Democratic Debates -- I hope one day, you'll be paid more like doctors and respected more like veterans.
Next, to the Spotify playlists I've made for every month of high school. Because they're not thematic or mood-based, each one is more eclectic than the last -- for example, "07/2022" is four songs from the Broadway production of Wicked, my five favorite songs off Sabrina Carpenter's latest album, and 56 songs from the Glee soundtrack. Looking through them to write this blogpost, I realized how much each playlist is a miniature time capsule: I remember so clearly the nights when I would wait for everyone in my house to fall asleep so I could play Melodrama by Lorde over and over again, or the many, many, many One Direction relapses I have had throughout high school. For someone who has spent most of high school in my bedroom, staring at the walls I painted purple when I was bored during the pandemic, it was this music that made me feel less alone.
So, what have I learned? That I might forget this all: the things I learned the night before a test will be the first to go (looking at you, AP Chemistry), but soon I won't remember the dates of wars and authors of classical books, either. I'll forget the names of all but three or four of my favorite people, and eventually I'll forget those, too. My freshman year schedule is already fading, and my old phone number is long gone. I guess along with that, all my humiliations leave me, too. That day I swore in Econ and got yelled at by Mr. Aldinger doesn't make me physically cringe like it used to, and I haven't called any of my teachers "Mom" in a few years. Athazagoraphobia or not, eleutheromania or not, I might just lose contact with all the people I pretended to love and even the ones I actually did.
But the last thing this world needs is another indifferent person. So when everything fades and my midlife crisis sets in, and I can't remember whether I loved this place or hated it -- even though I'm the resident Most Nostalgic Person You Know -- I hope I'll remember the drama with which I felt every single emotion, and how often I was truly enamored with fate for dropping me, of all places, right here.
*Editor's Note: I sent this to a friend to proofread before I published it, and their reaction was, to quote: "You stole your entire personality from your mother only for her to be snubbed more than Beyonce at the 2009 VMAs? Give her a full paragraph," so here you go:
When people tell me their "don't tell anyone, but..." secrets, I take them to the grave. And by that I mean my mother will find out tonight. She offers advice by misquoting religious texts and Oscar Wilde, and still does a victory dance while singing "still the smartest woman in the house" every time she beats me at Jeopardy!. She let me watch Avengers: Endgame the day before my Science Olympaid State tournament in the eighth grade, but only because Chris Evans is "easy on the eyes".
The most adventurous thing my mother has ever done is skip a singular lecture in medical school, and she got so nervous about it that the guy she skipped class with dropped her back off at the school before the lecture was over. (Considering I've been caught by Mr. Bato every time I've tried to skip, I think it's safe to say I get my rebellious streak from her.) But despite her bone-deep uncoolness, my friends have practically hazed her into our friend group, with one of them even telling me that she's the "generally better version" of me -- which is exactly why they didn't get a thank you...
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