This blog was written on June 3rd.
It is 7:02 am. I just walked into the hallway where the senior portraits are displayed. A wave of uneasy melancholy washed over me. For five minutes, I couldn't understand why I felt this way, but as I passed the pictures of my fellow seniors, it finally clicked. The feeling wasn't just sadness at the thought of not seeing them next year—though that's certainly part of it. It was the realization that all these people, who once walked these halls and maybe even sat in the same chair I'll occupy next year, have been reduced to a photograph with a few words indicating their college. Some are proud to attend competitive schools, as they should be, while others feel embarrassed about going to a so-called less prestigious college. These portraits carry more than smiling faces; they hold something much deeper: broken dreams and four years of mental exhaustion. The images evoke the fulfillment of finishing high school, but the truth is, many are not satisfied with their journey. Perhaps they suppress their disappointment and conceal it behind the smiles in their portraits that we juniors walk by and view in awe. Isn't that ironic?
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We—the remnants—cast our opinions on an individual's appearance in their portrait, their college choice, or any other small detail. The melancholy I felt was perhaps due to the negativity that surrounds these portraits. The fear—"What if I don't get into my dream college?" "Will I be judged by fellow juniors before I leave?"—lingers. While I stood in the portrait hallway on my last day as a junior, I heard many people mock the graduates; it made me sick. After four years of hard work to get into college, when a student leaves behind a photo to be remembered by, all the juniors seem to notice are the flaws—some of which aren't even flaws, but simply aspects that make us human.
These thoughts were daunting; after a while, though, I realized that this is just part of life. Our journeys change, destinations shift, and judgmental people exist everywhere. Ultimately, my key takeaway from this morning is: "We are the only ones who can rightfully look at our portraits and understand the true value of that final smile, the weight of the mortarboard, and the meaningless yet desperately sought 'Perfect Portrait.'"
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Today, one of the few things I recalled from AP Language was, peculiarly, the tale of The Great Gatsby. The way Gatsby broke out of poverty and pursued his American Dream felt eerily similar to our high school journey. Gatsby believed in the green light, just as we believe in the diploma and pursue it relentlessly, imagining that attaining it would be like Gatsby's pursuit of Daisy's love—the last missing piece of his vision of "The Great Gatsby." Ironically, the very thing he sought to complete his transformation led to his downfall. After Gatsby's death, the harsh truth about individual value is revealed, demonstrated by Daisy Buchanan's indifference despite Gatsby's devotion. The ending of Gatsby might be the best way for me to explain my melancholic feelings as I look at these portraits. After graduating, all that remains of these graduates is an image, like Gatsby's, and people gossip only about negative things, perhaps even spreading false rumors. Here I am, feeling disgusted like Nick Carraway and inevitably succumbing to the harsh reality: "Once you finish a journey, almost no one except those who truly care about you or shared in your journey really cares enough to honor your image; many don't even bother to hide their contempt for a mere photo." So we beat on, ignoring their voices and continuing this journey of life.
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