Goodbye Troy
I moved to Troy in the second grade, and since then I’ve lived in four different houses, bouncing around, but one thing is always consistent: every morning from September through June, I drive to school on Northfield Parkway. Bemis Elementary, Boulan Park Middle, and Troy High School are not so coincidentally located on the exact same street and with one drive up and down that road, my entire childhood can flash through my eyes. There have been plenty of happy moments throughout my life, but I’ve had my fair share of struggles, and they have all taken place in the exact same city: Troy. So when I think of college next year (despite the fact that 80 other kids from Troy will be joining me in Ann Arbor), I imagine a blank new slate. Let me explain.
I like to think I have a good memory, that I can remember every detail of my life, but I’ve slowly began to realize that no, it’s not just my memory, but my memory’s linkage with various things. Whether it be a certain song that happens to come up when I’m on shuffle that brings me back to the exact moment of me sitting in an eighth grade classroom (any song from my middle school emo phase ;)) or driving past the parking lots that I used to stop at to climb on top of my car to watch the stars by myself (this is exactly as weird as it sounds), I can connect any moment throughout my life back to an exact location within this city. Now I’m getting a bit sentimental about leaving my childhood behind, and as my mother likes to tell me… “Parvathi, you’re not going to go away forever”, I can’t help but continue to think that it will never be the same. At some point in the next four years, my house won’t just be home, it’ll be “back home”, my friends won’t just be my friends, they’ll be “my childhood friends”, and Troy will just become “the city I grew up in”.
Anyways I think I’ve fully diverted from the prompt we were given for our final blog post (those four words almost made me tear up), so I’ll now write a letter to my past self, three years ago, struggling to figure out where her place was in the sea of high schoolers.
Dear Ninth-Grader Parvathi,
The best thing I can tell you about high school is that it constantly contradicts itself. I’ve typed and backspaced at least three different ‘meaningful and life-changing pieces of advice”, but even after 18 years, I still can’t say anything with certainty. Your life is constantly changing, whether it be where you live, your friendships, or your mindset of waking up the next morning. You have to roll with the punches.
Don’t dwell on the small things. If you won’t remember it in three years, it doesn’t matter. Move on.
Crying over bad grades doesn’t do anything if you don’t start studying for the next one. Eventually you’ll be going to an amazing college, with a 4.0 cord around your neck.
Drama means nothing. People will always criticize. Eventually you’ll end up with the most amazing friends who have somehow become family.
Sometimes you have to let things go. Keep your two week-rule. Think about it for two weeks and if it’s still the same, let it go. I promise, you’ll be okay, and you definitely won’t regret it.
Follow your passion. Be loud about it. One of these days you’ll be known as ‘that’ feminist girl to your friends’ friends, and you’ll beam with passion because that means you won’t shut the h*ll up about the things you believe in.
You don’t always have to be right. But you always have to be nice
The number that shows up next to your name on a transcript does not matter. You carry value besides that number. (Still trying to convince myself of this one, but I’ve heard it’s true :))
I’m sure theres thousands of more lessons I’d like to give my younger self, along with criticize her for the her stupid bandanna phrase, tell her to take her headphones out of her ears in the hallway and make friends, and to not become friends with that one girl that everyone told her not to (this could apply to many people, I’m a bit too trusting). But instead, I’ll let her make her own mistakes because the bandanna phase made me unique, the music addiction gave me my only outlet from the real world, and that one girl taught me that there is a thing called being a pushover. So Mini Parvathi, Good Luck out there, because despite all the things I wish I could tell you, the only thing I can hope for is that you’re proud of the girl typing this letter to you three years later.
Love, always,
Parvathi
May 3rd, 2021
Comments
Post a Comment