Love Letter to My College-Aged Self
Got any suitcase recommendations?
By Gracie Kibort with art by Natalie Williams
Approaching my final year in high school, I felt exhilarated. Terrified for the future, of course, but I was born with senioritis and suburban fatigue in my veins. The idea of shedding my skin like a snake, the moment I bound out of those stinky, hallowed halls yanked me through my harshest years to date. There was nostalgia, sure, but mostly respite. I somehow managed to liberate my teenage angst with nothing but my hand-me-down SUV, and 2018 faded mom jeans. It was a time reminiscent of BookSmart, Ladybird, and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. When the day came, life briefly harmonized, and I felt lulled, like softness after a summer rain.
Chalk it up to climate change or the world descending into pure chaos, but peace was volatile. I find myself in a similar situation four years later, yet very much has changed. I am no longer antsy with anticipation of driving away from this chapter of my life. In fact, my knuckles are white as I clutch the emergency brake, refusing to budge.
Back in yesteryear (I believe it was September), I noticed a brightly colored graphic on Instagram, proposing that I value the current version of myself because she shan’t remain forever. Self-described as both anxious and a little superstitious; I took it as a sign. Whenever my mind wanders and I reflect on my high school years, I yearn to hug that girl. Certainly, she is no longer me, but nonetheless. This digital guidepost motivated me to enlighten myself and celebrate the most perplexing period of my life to date. As the graphic crossed my path, I noticed growth, perseverance, friendship, and love. Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on how you view it, whatever era I’ve stumbled into is fleeting, I must bid her adieu.
Yet as much as I wish to experience the turn of the seasons in Dinkytown like it’s Groundhog’s Day, I have come to realize that my college experience is like an old sweater. I recently found said sweater in the back of my childhood closet clutched to my chest. I sniffed the slightly dilapidated threads that reeked of the decrepit-closet stench. Eagerly, I tried it on but was instantly met with disappointment. The arms fit unevenly, the collar too stretched. I couldn’t bear to part with her but knew she wouldn’t be worn again. She will remain hanging solemnly in my closet, reminiscent of sweeter days, reeking of sentiment.
Why is there no post-grad packing list? I grew up watching shows of hoarders with my mother. We are adequately familiar with the structure: keep, donate/dump, and pile for the maybes. As I both figuratively and literally pack up my life, I must decide what shall remain and what shall be chucked into the garbage. For your convenience, I’ve divided it into categories.
Keep. I will retain my positive attitude and dedication to doing right by myself and by others. My Polaroid photo collection though has waxed and waned as friends come and go. Various recipes I mastered from friends and roommates. Memories of the adventures I have taken in my years as a student. My velvet comforter. My passion for writing.
Donate. To my friends, the next generation of college students, and Goodwill. Customized crochet coaster collection. That hideous wall tapestry. Nightly routines of High–Low Hero and Wii Karaoke. The friendships I will willingly leave here. Dollar Tree holiday decor.
Dump. They are already blocked. Self-doubt and academic validation. The act of shrinking myself to appease others
Maybe. How do I determine what I need for the life I know nothing about? Many of my crop-tops are questionable. Some of those polaroids, too.
Confidently and unsurprisingly, I proclaim that I am a product of college metamorphosis. As graduation hurdles me with the speed of light, I want to raise a toast to the college version of myself, may she be folded nicely and tucked into a plastic bucket in the storage unit of my mind. She’s a keeper. For she may never be the same again but will reflect fondly on our memories together. L’chaim, Salut, Cheers.