As I stand in an agonizingly long security line at the Southwest terminal of LAX, I can’t help but notice that I’ve chosen the slowest queue, filled with travelers who seem perplexed by the process of placing their belongings on the conveyor belt. Progress is painfully slow. Eventually, my frustration bubbles over, and I manage to mutter to those nearby, “If we move any slower, we might as well be going backwards.”
Suddenly, I hear a voice call my name from behind. Turning around, I see Alex, an old friend from high school. I’ve always liked Alex, but it’s been two decades since our graduation. I’m thrilled to see him, yet intrigued by how he recognized me. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he says. “Still the same redheaded, witty shoe enthusiast.” I glance down at my glittery sandals, almost sheepish, realizing I wore a similar pair back in high school. While I’m impressed he remembers, I’m also horrified to see my tastes haven’t evolved much since then.
Panic sets in. “Oh no!” I think. “I don’t want to be the same person I was in high school. Those years were a nightmare. I’ve spent my adult life trying to be different!” This train of thought keeps me occupied throughout my flight from Los Angeles to JFK. The last thing I want is for someone to see the high school version of me as the true me. Aah!
Like many, I reflect on my high school years with discomfort. My main goal back then was to blend in and be invisible. I had braces, overused hairspray, and loved shoulder pads far too much. I’ve worked hard to shed my former dorky persona, so the thought that I might still appear like that awkward teenager is disheartening. It makes me question whether I’m still that same invisible girl. Worse yet, I worry if the world still sees me as the gangly teenager who matured late and had braces early.
Yet, as I ponder further, I remember that high school wasn’t entirely terrible. I had an incredible group of girlfriends—something I still strive to replicate. The outrageous 1980s fashion and fun music were unforgettable. I felt like a character in a John Hughes film, albeit one where Jake Ryan didn’t return my affection but instead tried to cheat off me in AP math or egged my house on his way home from parties.
Interestingly, I still enjoy the same music from those days. Morrissey is never far from my playlist, and The English Beat is a staple. While my wardrobe has evolved beyond shoulder pads and penny loafers, my hair resembles what it did in my senior portrait, primarily because I thankfully didn’t go overboard with hairspray back then. I’m still a witty redhead with a penchant for shoes, just as Alex pointed out. The interests I cultivated in high school continue to shape my identity today.
Perhaps I’m not as different from my high school self as I thought. Maybe none of us are. High school is the first time we discover our own tastes and learn to express ourselves. It’s often when we experience our first heartbreak or become someone’s first crush. Those years are filled with dreams about the future and endless possibilities—even amidst the awkwardness and trials, like dealing with classmates who attempted to cheat off me during math class.
The next time I encounter an old high school friend, I’ll take it as a compliment if they say I haven’t changed at all. In retrospect, high school wasn’t so bad. And perhaps, I wasn’t either.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the author’s experience of meeting a high school friend and grappling with the lingering memories of adolescence. While initially feeling panicked about being perceived as the same person from high school, the author realizes that those formative years played a significant role in shaping her identity. Ultimately, she recognizes that perhaps the essence of who we are remains rooted in our high school selves, even as we grow and evolve.