Senioritis: being witness to

In 1789, Benjamin Franklin wrote that “in this world, nothing is certain except death and taxes". Cheerful, no doubt. Yet, Ben forgot one thing. Ben forgot a far more pertinent constant in life, senior-year lethargy: death, taxes, and senioritis.

Why do I say that? Because from personal experience and some asking about, the year has not been, say, easy on any of us seniors. If publically documenting and evaluating my experiences (informed and enlightened by the views of a helpful few) can help amend any junior’s lofty hopes of an easy ride or offer consolation to my fellow sufferers - I mean, seniors - then I've done my year's worth of community service.

First thing's first, yes, it is only December and technically, senioritis refers to motivation loss in your second semester, usually once you have already received university offers. But by this point, especially given the state of my IB Spanish oral exam last week - eg. me gusta ir al cine porque es muy interesante - technicality is rather low (dead last) on my list of priorities. Just above it is learning how to conjugate verbs in the subjunctive, which I certainly never will.

Senioritis. Burnout. Laziness. A rose by any other name. The point is, senior year isn't fun - or pretty. Although, before accusing me of being a miserable whinger, remember, I bought into it just as much as anybody. Any imaginings I had of my idyllic senior year, however, (I won't reveal them now - oh, the shame, the naivety!) were swiftly dashed on the rocks.

Here are the conclusions I've instead come to about senior-life: myths, realities, the bad, the ugly and the downright diabolical:

1. Being a senior isn't being a science wiz while also singing your little heart out in the glorified school production - finally breaking free from the oppressive expectations imposed on you by high school culture, to date your other half, a basketball jock who strangely resembles Zac Efron. Even if Covid didn’t already chew up the school production part, so-called real-life would have seen to the outrageous possibility of both having good grades and a social life.

2. Being a senior isn't strutting along the corridors, looking down upon the starstruck freshmen who are hoping to one day become you, either because they're very silly or think insomnia-induced bloodshot eyes are somehow hot (no judgment). Again, even without C, you won't be condescending yourself to anyone - no time. You'll just be walking straight, rapid steps, eyeing the imaginary carrot (university acceptances) dangled just above your head while enduring the stick (supplementals and Co) behind you.

3. Being a senior definitely isn't being cool. There is very little dignity in asking for your third extension.

So what is it? At its worst, it’s starting your extended essay less than 24 hours before the due date, running on a grand total of 37 and 1/2 minutes of sleep. At its best, it's sending clandestine memes during class about how your teacher mildly resembles Joe Exotic.

But most importantly, being a senior is languishing, mindlessly drifting, with your motivation crashing so badly that the average student's wifi connection during the first block looks impressive. It's asking “what's the point?” to the point where the word ‘point’ stops making sense. Point. Point. Point. Point. Point. Pointy pointy point point. See how it feels?

It's not caring anymore.

But of course, I'm exaggerating. Senior year isn't all bad. There’s always that warm fuzzy feeling - the sense that you're cherished and loved when PowerSchool raises your score by one percentage point. Right?

Nonetheless, this senior year has no doubt been unorthodox. Online, uncertain and perennially plagued by disconnection issues, in both the technological and human sense of the word. Yet, the factionalism between IB and AP kids is as alive as ever. I certainly don't want to stir the pot any further, even if it's only to humbly nudge forward the point that we indubitably have it worse. Also, while online, students have only traded in old bladders that require “bathroom breaks” twice every lesson for “old laptops” that crash thrice. So there is still a human familiarity in it all: plus ça change.

If a historian decides to study the lives of seniors in the year 2021-2, what conclusions would they come to? That we're grouches who need to grow up and get along, or that our grievances are entirely legitimate? Is the year only a glitch that we'll forget once we get to university, or will it have reverberations throughout the rest of our adult life? Regardless of what it is, I would only ask for one thing: cut us some slack - as we have cut poor Ben Franklin some slack for his brief oversight in 1789.