Spread Your Wings And... Fall?

Today, I graduated from high school. Graduation means a lot of things to a lot of people, but for me, it's the culmination of thirteen years of exhausting work. After this, I never have another day of public school again, and that's just fine with me.

The ceremony was especially interesting because as a French horn player, I was duty-bound to play in the orchestra onstage. Let me just point out to you that it is very difficult to provide the music at graduation whilst simultaneously graduating. Fortunately, it went smoother than I expected.

Apart from that, I realized that the real beauty of the ceremony lies in how it brings people together. I bumped into a lot of friends from way back in elementary school, most of whom I haven't seen much the last few years, and we picked it up like it was yesterday. It felt natural, that the people we started with should be the people we ended with.

Me and my long-lost crowd of elementary school homies

Plus, I got balloons! And who doesn't like balloons? Okay, maybe I have a strange fascination with them that most others lack, but they're still nice. When they behave, that is.

Balloons!

When balloons refuse to comply with your wishes. Dirty rebels.

Okay, at this point the balloons are winning.

I could go on talking about the ceremony, all the extra honorary things I wore over my gown, the strange mix of emotions associated with the event and all that other graduation junk, but today that's not my focus. I'll likely talk about school withdrawal and post-graduation depression in a week or two, but today I've set about to provide you with a meaty philosophy nugget, and that's what I'm going to do.

One of the speakers at the ceremony (a friend of mine, I might add) made the point that "if you're careful enough, nothing good or bad will ever happen to you." I let that sink in for a moment, then heard another bit that's just as good: be more afraid of mediocrity than failure. Now combine that with the theme for this year's graduation, "fortune favors him who dares," and you've got a pretty nice thesis going. They all encourage us to take risks, because risks lead to greater rewards.

During the speeches, a teacher at my school was quoted, saying "spread your wings and soar." The story behind said teacher's incessant eagle metaphors is deserving of its own post, so I might do that later. But essentially, if you combine all of these, you get go out and try something, because even if you fail, at least you're not mediocre. That appeals to me, because as a Reject I've tried and failed at plenty of things, and I think it's really the only way to get things done in life.

So this is what I leave you with: Go out and fail at something. That seems like a really weird piece of advice, and I'll admit that it is, but growing accustomed to trying things no matter how impossible the odds are will lead you to greater success in the long run. Who knows? If you keep trying, you just might accomplish something amazing.

Hic Manebimus Optime!

That Empty Locker Feeling

With only one week left of high school now, the end-of-year procedures have begun, and the nostalgia is hitting hard. AP tests are over, meaning the pressure has been removed from most of my classes, and what remains shouldn't be too hard. Seeing as I essentially only have a stats project left to do (really a glorified free-response problem), I've had some time to think the deep thoughts.

Today was locker clean-out. That's normally a joyous occasion, signifying the end of the work and a beginning of summer. It's one half of a cycle; you find your locker at the beginning of the year, and empty it at the end. In practice, however, clean-out seems to come first, and new lockers second. This is because the distance between clean-out and new locker is only three months, whereas the distance between new locker and clean-out is nine months. The two events serve less as bookends to the school year as they do for the summer. The summer begins with emptying your locker, and ends with getting a shiny new one.

My problem is that this time, the summer won't end with a new locker. I don't get to look forward to returning to old friends, perfecting my paths across the school and embracing my higher status in the school hierarchy. This time, it's over. This is it. At the end of this summer, I won't be returning to someplace familiar, someplace that has become a part of me through all the laughter and tears. I'll be in a whole new place, far from home, in a sea of strangers, trying to navigate the world I've been dropped into.

That realization is what led me to understand the true significance of my locker. This year, I didn't use it for much. In fact, I put my physics textbook in it on the first day of school, and didn't open it again until I needed to stash my lunch during AP tests two weeks ago. Why, then, should I be sad about letting it go?

The truth is, a locker isn't just a locker. I could've kept my physics book at home. Some would argue that I should have (though I assure you I have excelled in the class without it). I put that book in my locker because I didn't want it to be empty. My schedule did not require that I use it as extensively as I have in previous years, but I wanted to keep something in it anyway. A locker provides a sense of place, a feeling of belonging. It's your spot in the school, a link that ties you to the environment where you spend the craziest years you've ever lived through (thus far, of course). Having something in my locker made me feel that I had a place there. It was a sort of anchor, not something I consciously thought about, but something that was always there. And I think that subconscious stability helped me through what I believe to be my hardest year of school.

That's why it was painful for me to turn the knob and pull the lever for the last time, to take that dusty physics book back to the school library. When I walked away from that locker, I severed my last tangible tie to my school.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad it's almost over. I never loved school, homework or getting up before dawn for swim practice. But this is the place where I've practically lived for years. This is where I've been through the good times and bad, growing up and learning new things, and trying to figure out who I am. This is where I met half my friends, and I know that there are some I'll likely never see again. All these things are integral parts of my high school experience. Those memories are tied to this place, and my locker is my slice of that place. It's a symbol of my identity.

So without a locker, what am I? In the past I've identified as a swimmer, a musician, a nerd. Those are all things connected to high school, and without that, what's left? All external sources of self-definition have been removed, and the next time I walk into a classroom, I'll have nothing to tell me what I am. This time, I'll have to discover what I'm really made of. And at the end of the day, once the dust settles, I can tell you I'm excited to find out.

Hic Manebimus Optime.

AP Squared: Advanced Placement Amulets of Power

You might have noticed I was AWOL last week, and I have an extremely short explanation to account for this. Here it is: AP tests.
During the two-week AP testing season, I was rendered unable to do much of...anything, really. In truth, by the time you return from a four-hour testing ordeal on top of a half day of normal school, your brain is essentially liquefied. And that doesn't even account for lifeguard training, National Honor Society service hours or the other things I've been occupied with of late. Simply put, testing survival mode entails meticulous preparation, semi-superstitious rituals, suspension of non-vital tasks and quite a bit of pencil sharpening, culminating in a fit of catatonic post-test trauma.

Thankfully, I survived. I think. It is possible that I'm writing this post-mortem, but not likely; I mean, I've heard of ghost writers, but I don't think that's what the term is supposed to mean.
I took three AP tests this year, which is the most I've done, but only about average at my school. I truly feel sorry for the students in the IB program. One of my IB friends had seventeen tests this year, so I suppose I should count myself lucky with three. These were English Literature and Composition, United States Government and Politics and Statistics.

Of these, the first two were simultaneously the most important and the least stressful, which is a good thing. Stats was a source of incredible stress until I realized the credit will not actually help much in my planned major, so in reality my score doesn't matter. That revelation offered great relief, such that I believe I performed better purely because I was relaxed. All in all, I think I did very well. I'll probably talk about it in July when scores come out.

To what do I owe my success? Definitely these things right here. And I'm only partially joking. I'll explain in a minute. First, let's identify what exactly these are. They're basically "AP Amulets" given to us by a few teachers at my school, to remind us of subject matter pertaining to a specific test. Rather than use them for only the corresponding test, however, many students at my school (myself included) bring them along to all of our AP tests for luck. Let's discuss them one by one:

• The Calculus Rock: These rocks with smiley faces are given out by AP Calculus teachers here. Although the rock itself is not inherently connected to the calculus curriculum, it serves to remind us of our rock-solid preparation for the exam, and also feels very good to hold in your hand when you're feeling stressed. Plus, it reminds you to smile! I took calculus last year, but I still brought my rock to all of my tests this year. I got 5's on both of my tests last year with it in my pocket, so why mess with a good thing?
• The Statistics Dice: These were given out by my AP Statistics teacher. They are, quite obviously, symbolic of probability, but have a few other perks as well. Mostly when you finish a test section and have time left, you can entertain yourself. Also when a proctor walks by, you can roll a die and fill in the bubble corresponding to the result, which should make them question your sanity. (I'm serious, people actually did that, purely to mess with the proctors.) Because let's be honest, if you really don't know the answer, you should always choose B. Always.
• The Jesus Band-Aid: These are given out every year by my AP English teacher. Why? Well frankly it's a very, very long story that involves everything from Jesus action figures to pencil toppers (they really make those things?) and actually has nothing to do with anybody's religious affiliation. The short version is that this serves to remind us to recognize Christ figures in literature. And maybe to remind us to pray if the situation becomes dire.

There you have it. These are the amulets of AP power. While they don't have magical abilities or anything, I can attest to a legitimate placebo effect. Carrying something like this in your pocket can actually make you feel more confident, which translates to better performance. And most of my compatriots and I don't even bother to stow them in our pockets, preferring instead to keep them on the tables in front of us as a constant motivator. We're weird like that.

Right now, I'm just relishing the fact that I never have to take another AP test again. It's a glorious thing. As for my lucky charms? In all likelihood I'm still going to have them at my college finals. Just you wait.

Oh, and one final message to those stalwart souls in the IB program:
My condolences. Seriously.

Hic Manebimus Optime!