As the buds blossom and the green blades of grass grow, hope for the new dawn of the year sparks inside me. Spring is finally here, and for a brief moment, the sun feels like it could melt the permafrost of my existential dread. 

Ever since the pandemic and lockdown, this time of year has always caused me unrest and anxiety. The feeling of the world waking up but no one was there to wish it good morning. My family and I found relief in the blazing suns of spring, hiking under trees and over muddy banks. 

It feels so weird to say it happened three years ago as I was sitting in my home and not knowing when things will get better. 

Going out and eating takeout in the truck with the windows down, standing on stickers in the grocery isles to social distance, and even slowly disconnecting from all that made me feel like I was created to be active. 

Humanity was on pause and so felt like my life. I was coasting through my freshman year, captured behind a mask, and dragging through sophomore year, burdened with thoughts of relapsing. 

The pandemic tested me to new limits with the friend hardship and lonely shadows that filled my room. Sitting on Zoom and thinking to myself that things were never going to be the same. 

Spring blooms bright with sparkles of new breath, and now, so do I. 

This year has been miles better than the past three. I have found myself through a new circle of friends and cracked the shell that held me steadfast against the world. 

I know I am fortunate to experience the rest of high school relatively normally and graduate unlike those who could not. Yes, I pity the hardships they faced, but at least they have something complete rather than missing crucial pieces that make a student an adult. 

The seniors are done, and the attention has been turned to us, the juniors who are soon-to-be seniors. I am not ready yet, but I have no choice but to settle down for one last year. 

I know too soon that when I finally get there, where I am not quite sure yet, the world will be ready to eat me alive. Pessimism has always been my weakness and poses yet another question that I have yet to answer. 

Can I do this?

Every fiber of my being screams that I can’t, yet my faith goes against all convictions and tells me I am ready to dive into the deep currents and rapids of real-life turmoil. The twists of financial stress, the turns of jobs, and the trials of career choices all scare my inner child more than a dark storm cloud does. 

Yet after everything, when the coldest of winter frost thaws, there is still hope that I am the person this society needs to be strong. Maybe some will never notice my works and deeds, and I don’t need them too. But, I do know this: I will never not be needed, and will always strive to be brighter than those who devour the light.