Writing this as I am cuddled up in bed with my twenty stuffed animals surrounding me, I realize—wow, I am not ready to grow up. Why can’t I just stay here in my room? Or why can’t I stay in Room 58 and write articles for The Shield for the rest of my life? Well, the sad reality is that inevitably we must grow up.
Being the youngest child, I will admit that I have been “babied” my whole life. I was always the one my parents checked on twice, making sure that I had my day planned and I knew what time my soccer practice would be at. I rarely had to figure things out for myself because my sister had already done it for me. For a long time, I didn’t mind it, because it made me feel secure. I thought I had more time than everyone else to grow up. But now, as graduation gets closer and everything starts to actually feel real, I realize that being the youngest does not mean that I got to pause time; it just means I have had more moments to hold onto.
Growing up as the youngest meant I was always watching, taking in everything from the people around me. I saw the mistakes, the successes, the way things played out, and part of me thought I would always have more time to think because of it. My older sister, Melania, reached all of her milestones first, and I stood on the sidelines thinking my turn was far, far away. But now that my turn is here, it feels like everything sped up without any warning. At the same time, being the youngest gave me a kind of closeness I will always be grateful for. I grew up surrounded by people who guided me and protected me through every step of the way. It is strange, realizing that I am stepping into a chapter where I will have to be that person for myself, but maybe that is what they were preparing me for all along.
There are so many small moments I wish I could freeze. Laughing with my friends before class starts, complaining about those “terrible” classes we secretly enjoyed because we were together, and the feeling of walking onto campus at 7:30 a.m. knowing exactly where I belong and what I’m supposed to do. Even the stressful days, the ones filled with too much homework and not enough sleep, feel special now. At the time, they felt overwhelming, but looking back, they were proof that I was growing up, even when I was too tired to notice it.
I think the hardest part about growing up is not the responsibility or the change, but the fact that you cannot go back. You cannot sit in the same seat in the same classroom and feel the same way again. You cannot relive the first time you realized what you wanted to do or the moment you finally got an A on an IM3 STEM math test. Those moments only happen once, and then they become distant memories in the back of your mind.
But maybe growing up is not about leaving everything behind. Maybe it is about carrying those pieces of yourself with you. The girl who sits in bed surrounded by stuffed animals, the girl who writes articles late at night, the girl who sings country music too loud with her friends, and the girl who wishes on every eyelash. She does not just disappear. She comes with me into whatever comes next.
So even though I wish I could stay here a little longer, I am starting to understand that I do not have to. Because everything that made this place feel like home is already a part of me, because I am the one who makes my home, home. And maybe that is what growing up really is. Not losing who you were, but learning how to take what you learned with you.