High School

The Hamilton Spectator - - OUR PULSE -


All our lives, we are told to pre­pare for high school.

From the time we are chil­dren, to the minute we open those big doors,

The same words are re­peated mil­lions of times, over and over and over.

“The best years of your life will be your years in high school.”

When we were kids, the thought of grow­ing up and be­ing in­de­pen­dent was our big­gest dream. To us, it meant no rules. Stay up as late as you want, eat what­ever you want, play as much as you want.

We would turn on the TV and watch as teenagers were shown to be hav­ing fun con­stantly. As the years go by, we slowly build our­selves. We learn more, some of us may have even dis­cov­ered new tal­ents. Fi­nally, we reach high school. Most of us were ex­cited. You take one step in, and sud­denly the re­al­iza­tion sets in. High school is not what you thought it was. You turn around, and all those friends you’ve known for years, the ones you grew up with, are gone.

You’re drown­ing in more home­work than you thought was pos­si­ble, and the stress builds and builds un­til you feel like your head is go­ing to ex­plode.

You watch help­lessly as you are forced to choose be­tween your so­cial life, or your grades.

Why, why, why would that ever be some­thing you should have to choose?

You are ex­pected to de­cide on your ca­reer path within those four years, and sud­denly four years seems more like four min­utes.

Four min­utes un­til that bell goes off and you can leave with a sink­ing feel­ing in your stom­ach.

Three min­utes un­til you have to tell your friends that no, you can’t see them tonight. Or to­mor­row. Or the next month, be­cause you have too much work to fin­ish.

Two min­utes un­til you’re stay­ing up all night cry­ing over sheets of paper.

One minute left and you’re pan­ick­ing be­cause you don’t have enough cred­its, you have mul­ti­ple as­sign­ments over­due, your friends think you hate them, and now you can’t even walk down the hall­way with­out feel­ing like ev­ery­one’s eyes are look­ing right through you.

In the blink of an eye, those four min­utes are up. It’s all over… You’re an adult.

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