Up until now, I had never felt bad for my friends that graduated highschool. I felt sorry for them, in a sense, when I dropped out, that they still had to go through the stress of exams, but not bad for them. I knew dropping out came with it’s own set of challenges and rewards, as I knew so did staying in school. If anything I felt proud of them, that they not only stayed and finished their HSC, but thrived at them.
Part of me was upset when the time rolled around and results started coming out; everyone was being able to feel the joy and excitement of getting accepted into university, of starting this new chapter in their lives, and in a way, I was being left behind.
It was bittersweet I suppose, closing this chapter of our lives. I knew that the people who I really cared about would stay in my life, we made sure of that, but I also knew it wouldn’t be the same. Not just for them, as they moved on to Uni, with its own set of challenges, but as I did too, into the world.
But now, as I sit here writing this, having just spent the afternoon applying to universities, I am struck with an overwhelming amount of undecipherable emotions that make me feel bad for them.
I remember assemblies we would have about applying to university. I probably remember less than I wish I did right now, but I do remember. Go through UAC, get your number, for the love of God don’t loose that number and put your preferences. Having filled out a fair amount of forms in my life, I assumed it would be simple; little did I think I would be sitting here, scrolling through the University of Western Australia subreddit, crying.
It’s a strange thing, to be applying to university. I didn't fully consider it when the time rolled around for my mates, I hadn't had to. I could watch, from a distance, and give them support when they got anxious, but there was no way I could understand the process fully.
I guess some of you are laughing at me right now, “this chick, Jesus, what a drama queen.” I understand, I really do, at the end of the day, they’re only a couple of forms, tick a few boxes, send a few results, and wait. That’s not even the hard bit.
It’s not about whether I get in or not, I’ve never been one to care about the prestige and glamour of a particular university; it’s the uncertainty of it all. When I was younger I wanted to be a teacher, I had so admittedly convinced myself I wanted to be a teacher all throughout primary school, till I got to the point where I realised I actually really don’t like kids. Since then it’s been a nurse, an engineer, a fighter pilot; small periods where I would become convinced of what I wanted to do with my life. I would picture the future; studying at uni, getting incredible results, a great job, someone that ends up in the history books. None of them ever stuck very long.
Until I got into politics. It’s been a few years now, and my interest in politics and my desire to have a direct hand in the policies that can change people’s lives for the better has only continued to grow. I have never been so sure of what I want to do before. Despite this certainty, I’m the most uncertain I think I’ve ever been in life.
Maybe it was dropping out that did this, or COVID, or my new desire to study on the other side of the country. I can’t really be sure what’s caused it, I can’t really be sure of much of anything when it comes to this.
How do you even know when you’re ready for these things?
These changes sneak up on you, and before you know it you’re expected just to pack up and move away. To leave behind everything you’ve known so far and start from scratch. I know that everyone I care about is here, safe, and will continue to love me whether I’m down the road or across the country, but that doesn’t stop things from changing.
Because they will change. It’s unavoidable, which is the scariest part. How will I go living alone? Making new friends? Getting on with a whole new life?
It’s a bittersweet thing, getting ready to close a chapter of your life. It’s not over yet this chapter, I know that, but I’m nearing the end of this book. It’s a hard thing to deal with, having to put one book down, and plunge into the unknown of a new one.
But, as with every book I’ve picked up in the past, there’s always a new adventure to hold. At the end of the day, those books you’ve read a thousand times will still be there, sitting on your bookshelf, waiting for you, just like you remember them. They’ll welcome you back with open arms, and ask about all the exciting new stories you now have.
Although it’s uncertain, and it can be sad, it is the pantheon of stories you’ll keep adding to everyday that make it all worth it.
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