Adulthood Creeping In

It started with my dad asking when I would receive my learner’s permit. Though I knew I was 16, I didn’t realize I would have to scan through the monotonous chapters from the DMV website to study. I used to joke with my friends that the pandemic stunted our growth, but I genuinely didn’t feel old enough to be looking at the responsibility of applying for a permit, much less getting behind the wheel. From Zoom classes in seventh grade to now in senior year, I’ve finally made it.

The summer before senior year brought introspection. What I had dreamed of since I was a kid—to be independent and live away from home—is coming up too quickly. I was struck by waves of nostalgia and childhood memories that have only come to me years later, resurfacing as if to taunt the adolescent life I am leaving behind. I watched Inside Out 2, cringing at how uniquely accurate it was to my middle school years. As I walked to pick up my brother from soccer practice, I passed my childhood playground, where I used to run around playing freeze tag, hide-and-go-seek, and “The Floor is Lava.” In August, my mom insisted on cleaning out my bookshelf, hiding The Little Mermaid, Amelia Bedelia, and Frindle in the depths of the basement—a symbol of the end of my childhood. I reread my Raina Telgemier books, remembering how, in elementary school, I read about high school, feeling like it was a completely different world. Now, I long to go back to reading about high school while not being in it. I felt like Andy in Toy Story, who was giving up his childhood joys for a bigger story that the audience of children don’t get to see.  

At the same time, I had to face reality. Reluctantly, I started my college spreadsheet this past summer. Feeling behind my peers in every way possible, I let the stress simmer in July and boil over in August. My complacency in my lack of productivity was my enemy, and all I could do was complain and cry over it. How did a girl who was so excited to move on to a new chapter in her life suddenly feel so rushed? As the summer came to an end, I wondered how humans could yearn for an event until it arrived, wanting to turn back time and relive rose-colored memories. We desperately cling to our imagination fantasy-land of the past. 

The class of 2025 spent most of middle school in the pandemic. Though it was a benefit that the awkward phase of puberty was mostly hidden behind a screen or a mask, it drastically affected our personal growth. Besides inadequate online classes, the pandemic made us grow up quicker. Not only that, but Stuy’s graduating classes often have to deal with immense academic and college pressure. Did growing up too fast make me finally stop and want to go back? 

My summer of remembering my childhood makes me realize how I will think back on my high school experience in the future. Will Stuy retrospectively look blissful compared to my college experience and life in the workplace? Now, I reflect on many late nights writing Opinions articles, proud to have my peers and teachers appreciate my efforts by the end. Though Stuy can be academically difficult and emotionally turbulent, I have met amazing people throughout my years, some of whom will be my best friends for life. Looking back, I hope that the future classes of Stuyvesant realize that four years really isn’t that long. It feels like ages when you are stressed, always living for the next test, assignments, whatever. But when you get to the top—and you will, eventually—you feel wistful. This unique Stuy experience bonds us together for life. 

Some view Stuy as only a way to move on towards higher education. I, on the other hand, took the SHSAT fully not believing I would wind up here. I was excited to go to school in Manhattan, to make the journey away from home. I was not prepared for Stuy culture: the pressure, peer comparison, and imposter syndrome. All this affects our view of high school. I’m not sure if we should embrace change or cling to the past, because life doesn’t wait for us to finish processing events. 

The last first day of school was bittersweet. Knowing I would be in a completely different place next year was stressful. College stopped sounding fun and instead started sounding more like another burden. In third grade, I remember counting off the years until my graduation, excitedly realizing that it would be 2025—I thought it was a nice, rounded number. Instead, there will no doubt be more tears left to shed—at my last high school soccer game, college decisions day, and graduation—but the summer gave me time to reflect on my childhood and see that my younger self would unequivocally be proud of me.