For the present I shared the glowing impressions in my mind, relating the vast differences amid basic human cohesiveness. Despite various cultures, people remained relatively the same; I thought of the curiosity of the child and the calculating hatred of the patriarch, knowing that such people existed in every city. Well into the night I rambled excitedly of my experiences abroad, content that I was home. I might fit in many places, but home was where I belonged.
I was never much of a romantic. There were inside of me, however, pieces of idealistic images which, due to their inconsistency with reality, provoked great surges of duress. These mental pictures, depicting that which "should be," stuck in my mind and festered there. Whether they were derived of societal suggestions or secret aspirations of my own concoction, I could not tell, yet they were infuriating, whatever their origin might have been, because of their unattainable quality. The latter part of 12th grade was infiltrated by such lofty ideals, and I had to watch myself closely to make certain I did not begin to play a role other than me. "One's senior year," stated the ideal, "should be a celebration of the past and the future; one's days should be filled with blissful fun and one's company should include the steadfast friends made through the course of the years." I observed classmates and for some, my ideal seemed their reality. Deep inside of me, however, I knew that, in reference to my life, my ideal was a sinking ship. I possessed perfectionistic qualities but lacked the ambition and the need to acquire awards. For myself I wanted to succeed. I did not, however, have to be the best; depending on so many variables, who could determine what was "best"?
Idly I reflected on my achievements: two year member of the National Honor Society, member of the Spanish Honor Society, and placed second in the school (after a native speaker) for a National Spanish Exam, for which I received a Spanish Dictionary. It was not a lengthy or conspicuous list, but I was satisfied. I could never live up to my ideal because I disliked public display; I felt that accepting recognition would direct undue attention and I would be placed on trial. Within the realm of intelligence, I felt myself to be quite small; knowledge is infinitous, and to claim praise for assimilating such a minute portion as was encased in my mind seemed unfit.
My reactions, or lack thereof, regarding academic achievement were greeted by my mom and dad with a degree of chagrin and disappointment. A child's success is a good reflection on the parents; thus, when I failed to pose for the yearbook photos which honored Society members as a group, she despaired that the anonymity of my accomplishments would hurl me into oblivion. Had I seen through her eyes the importance of recognition, perhaps I would have remained after school and posed for posterity. . . and for my parents.
"Blissful fun" was yet another part of my ideal which had no parallel to reality. Fun was not a given property of one's senior year, a mindless embellishment punctuating the culmination of twelve years of public education. Instead, fun was a state of mind, quite dependent upon one's capacity for having fun. It was imperative to possess creativity, openness and fearlessness toward work; bored people were often simply lazy.
Fun, a highly personal noun, too often was used generically, which led to overrating certain pastimes and berating others. The result, of course, was either harrowing disappointment, or pleasant surprise, depending on one's particular luck. There was also the possibility that one could fake the role of having fun merely because it was the appropriate response; this, more than any other aspect of my ideal, ensnared my sense of reality. I found the power of suggestion, combined with my mind's ideal, would let me take part in an activity, pronounce that I had enjoyed myself, and continue to believe such even after the experience was over; then, in later reflection, I would realize my pretense and wonder why I had allowed myself to adopt another's definition of fun rather than pursuing my own intuition.
Such departures from rationality disturbed me, particularly because they were uncharacteristic; while I often sat steeped in thought or immersed in dreams, I rarely played out those reflections in the physical sense. Furthermore, play-acting was a nuisance because when such activity resulted in emptiness, it was a sore waste of time. Free time was one commodity with which I was rather stingy; therefore I tried to be selective regarding how the precious moments were spent. Even so,mistakes were made, and less favorable outcomes became a source of bitter resentment if I allowed myself to stew in their memory.
Finally, the ideal called for "steadfast friends," created through mutual interests and communication. In reality, I had acquaintances, and I had what I called "friends" for lack of a more appropriate word. With these classmates, I often felt like a mother, a psychiatrist, or an impartial listener, entirely detached from the situation at hand. As the "impartial listener" I lapsed into a role such as I described earlier; if I faced unpalatable situations or discussions while on "automatic," I could then tolerate them without feeling undue frustration. I voiced no unsolicited opinions, utilizing silence as a manner of maintaining peace in my world. Thereby I lost nothing… nor did I gain.
As high school drew to a close, I no longer felt obliged to analyze each moment. Soon all would be different. The hallways would echo no sound and store no memory of those who had passed. Friends would be lost to each other and acquaintances would fade like early morning dreams. Achievements would pave the way toward further education, jobs, or merely attract dust on a chest of drawers, remembering that which no longer existed.
I had enjoyed my time in high school as best I could considering the topsy-turvy state of my emotions. I had met some fine people and experienced some genuine "fun." My achievements were satisfactory and I felt content that graduation was near. I did not wish to relive or prolong high school. Maybe my ideal demanded too much of life, or perhaps I was more fully accepting that one's ideal vision of life had little in common with reality. I knew only that I wished to pursue a life unfettered by those wistful images. It was time for me to begin closing one door.