While at work the other day, I hugged goodbye an exchange student I had met through my French class the previous year. In the past, these acts didn’t feel like a big deal — after all, I could keep in touch with friends through social media. Besides, this one goodbye didn’t mean that they were gone forever. I could see them again.
But I know now that I probably won’t. Chances are too slim. And this time, the feeling was too much like the closing of a novel, the kind with too much plot and too little closure to keep the reader satisfied.
With this realization came another: in one year’s time, that would be me hugging a friend goodbye. And if I ever saw them again, my life would already be too different. Hampered by college textbooks and an unknown city drawn wide with opportunities, my mind would be sure to expand and change. Before I would have had time to notice, separation would erode the walls of our personalities, creating a gap too large to fill with our new life stories.
That same night I said goodbye, I did what every upcoming senior dreads: I made a Common Application account. I opened up the admissions application that many universities use to differentiate students around the globe and I started to checkmark boxes that described me, from my race to my passions to anything that could not be boxed into a mere square. Then I opened up every social media account I owned and followed every college-related account that I could find, scouring various tips and tricks to receiving a positive admission letter and financial aid.
When I research colleges, I can’t help but feel a twinge of excitement. Out in the real world, there are so many opportunities and so much to do — I could join different established social action groups on matters important to me; I could travel to another country and talk about human rights in another language; I could intern in the U.S. Capitol and learn about our governing system through the passion of our nation’s elected representatives. But as ready as I am to escape Alaska’s embrace, I am not sure I am able to walk away from it.
Lately, I have spent a lot of time engulfed in my future. College research has become a recurrent pastime and daydreams of “what could be: pull my thoughts away from my reading. No doctor has been able to pinpoint the cause of senioritis, but to its every victim the answer is clear: the future and its many possibilities.
Most of me cannot wait to get out, observe and take part in the rest of the world’s story. Living in a small town has left me restless and dissatisfied, even at 17. Online, it is easy to become overwhelmed with opportunities, from internships abroad to language clubs at universities. But with every new discovered possibility, I unearth yet another overlooked treasure that I will miss about Juneau, from its unwillingness to give up to its undying friendliness in times of need.
With the various legislative attacks on sexual health education, I saw teens from all three high schools run up the Capitol stairs to protest for what is right. In the wake of the Orlando massacre, Juneau’s LGBTQ community reached out a hand of support and Juneau’s people walked behind in solidarity. On summer days, I walk around downtown Juneau during lunch hour and pity the many tourists unable to witness what obvious beauty stands before them. But just like a friend leaving, I know that my feelings for these newfound treasures will never ignite the same feelings that I hold now.
With less than a year until I board the airplane leading me toward an unknown something, there is much for me to celebrate and to ache for. But for now, I am living my life in preparation for that last embrace.
• Tasha Elizarde is a high school senior living in Juneau. Her column comes out the third Sunday of every month. She also writes “This Day in Juneau History” for the Juneau Empire.
