At this point, everything’s already been said about the way our lives have changed. There’s no reason for me to repeat once again all the canceled events and excitement. I think we’ve all slowly learned to come to terms, in our own ways, with this strange alternate universe we live in.
But as I’m sure we all do at times, I keep imagining where I would be in my “other life.” I would have celebrated with my senior friends and given them the goodbyes they deserved. I would have finished my spring sport season with definite victory. I certainly wouldn’t have taken my AP exams with people screaming down the hall and I wouldn’t be sending out this final issue of The Fourcast on email. However, the more I drag myself into the hole of this “other world,” the more I struggle to pull myself out. So for me, it’s time to let go.
Recently, my mom started a gratitude journal for me and my siblings to write down one sentence about something we’re grateful for each day. I rolled my eyes at first, but there’s something cathartic about remembering all the things I still have and take for granted.
For one, I’ve been spending time in the northeast with my extended family, At times I want to curl up in a ball and hide in my room, but I love the extra time and memories I’m making. I still can go outside and practice lacrosse, and I still have Netflix and TikTok (of course) and every show I could possibly watch at my fingertips. Finally, I still get to share my thoughts with you through this newspaper.
So, as I slowly cut the ties from my “other life” and start accepting where I am, I still feel weird. There’s no better way to describe it and I’m not a therapist, but I think it’s ok to “feel weird.” I mean, I ended my junior year by closing my computer in my bedroom. I stood up and walked downstairs and ate dinner. That was it.
In general, I don’t think we can feel normal after this. How can we when about 100,000 people have died in the United States alone? The next time I’m in a big crowd, I’ll be wary about touching people. When I have to shake someone’s hand, there will be a little flash in the back of my mind saying “wait, stop.” And I never thought I would miss school so much.
But it’s not just school, it’s the environment: sitting in front of my locker with chaos circling me, but still somehow finishing my math homework; walking into advisory and falling into Mrs. Sanchez’s comfy chair; and passing my senior friends in the hallway. I miss it all and I’m sad. We’re all sad, but I think it’s finally time to move on. So (to be as cheesy as possible) I’m turning the page. Goodbye “other life.” Hello to a new start.
Story by Ava Berger, Editor-in-Chief