I’m not scared anymore

I feel like I’ve talked too much about graduating high school, too much about my childhood or how scary I think growing up is. I would have loved, more than anything, to write about what graduation means to me, how saying goodbye to this chapter of my life seems like the scariest change I’ll ever encounter. It feels like such a beautiful moment that is also so incredibly common. 

I used to hold a grudge against people that weren’t afraid of graduating high school. I used to think they weren’t consciously going about life, that they would regret not appreciating their high school graduation enough in the future.

But now, I’m starting to become exactly what I could never imagine myself to be. I’m not as scared as I used to be. And it’s funny that I can look back at how different I was before I came to MSA. My hair was wavy, almost straight. I played the oboe and the keyboard (both terribly) in my high school band, and my only sense of community was in that band. I drew every single day and could fill an entire sketchbook in just a few months. My favorite artist was Chappell Roan and I thought I had left hyperpop far behind me (not knowing a new phase was in my future). 

At the same time, not a lot has changed. I still love horror media, I still love Smiling Friends (if you told summer 2024 Stephanie that it would be over by now, she would flip. But she would also say she “knew it was coming” just like I did when Zach and Michael first announced its finale). If I met 16-year-old Stephanie, we really wouldn’t be that different. I like to think that she would say we’re completely different people but I don’t think that at all.

I think I’m more different from the Steph that was in her first few months at MSA than I am the girl before that. She had terrible imposter syndrome, comparing herself to her seniors and fellow juniors enough to think that she couldn’t possibly be a real writer. She didn’t even know what the word “prose” meant. She didn’t know anything about writing and that’s what I love about her, she just wrote what she wanted without putting a genre, or even a title, on it. She wrote short stories without calling them short stories, started novels without calling them novels. She wrote with no end goal, word count, or desire to show anyone. And if I really think about it, I’m so jealous of her.

Over the two years I’ve spent at MSA, my writing has obviously changed but my dreams haven’t. I still want to ultimately write horror novels, but now I can see myself writing a romance novel, memoir, short story collection, or poetry collection. It’s important to note that I wrote my first ever (successful) poem to audition for MSA. I had only written one (terrible) poem before that in the seventh grade. I remember it being really difficult, but in the end I loved it. I should’ve known that I would love poetry years later.

Over my time at MSA, I loved writing about my childhood and how attached I am to it. It’s certainly magical, but I think I’ve dwelled on it too long. How many times can you say “I’m terrified of growing up” before people get tired of hearing you? How many times can you say “I’m not ready to be an adult” before you’re eighteen and you have no choice? And how many times can you keep lying to yourself saying you’re not ready when you are, you just don’t realize it?

I’ve made excuses for myself time and time again: I don’t know how to do taxes, I’ve never had a job, I still don’t know how to drive! But I can learn, like I have with everything before. And if I don’t learn the first time, I have no choice but to try again.

I’ve realized that some people know me for writing about how scary this transitional period of life is for teenagers. Sure it’s great hearing them say I’m relatable or “real”, but I’m ready to move on. There is so much more I want to write.

My senior showcase has certainly broken a part of my brain. I’ve realized that there is no going back after “AMERICAN GIRL/AMERICAN BOY”. I lost a part of myself after focusing on my time in Indonesia for the first time in twelve years. Something about not knowing what happened those six years made me the girl I was. The Wasian girl that thought of herself as entirely White, because that’s how she was raised, the girl that dismissed her time in her home country because it hurt too much to think about. 

I don’t fully know who I am yet, and I don’t think I ever will. Maybe I’m getting closer to knowing, maybe this is the closest I will ever be. But I’d rather dwell in the uncomfortable honesty about my childhood than ignore it and make that ignorance part of myself. I want everyone to know about how difficult it was for me, because that’s how I became who I am today. Maybe being closer to my culture, my childhood, and the blocked memories brings me closer to my best self. 

On a lighter note, I really love sharing this website to anyone outside of MSA that’s interested in my writing. Not only do I get to promote my peers’ casual pieces that display their personality and how I know them, but also I feel like the people I share it with know a little bit more about me when they read my blogs. I also love going back in time and reading my old posts. It’s embarrassing as hell, but I only say that because it’s me. 

Outside of this website, I also love searching random internet topics and finding a 10-year-old blog post by a teenager who only had one thing: a website domain and passion. There’s something so charming about reading an internal monologue typed out for all of the internet to see.

When I’m in college, I want to be able to look back at this website and read my old, embarrassing blogs. Maybe they won’t be such a pain to read in a few years since hopefully I won’t remember writing about Chappell Roan for my first ever blog and started it with a clickbait title. 

I also want this final blog post to be like a time capsule. I’d love to compare my changes even further in the future when I look back. So:

My name is Stephanie, but I prefer Steph. I’m a senior at the Mississippi School of the Arts and I’m graduating in less than a month. I used to be afraid of becoming an adult, graduating high school, and moving on to college. I am really childish. I cram playing my favorite video game, the new Tomodachi Life: Living the Dream, in my thirty minutes of free time every day. My favorite artists (and band) right now are underscores, Jane Remover and Paramore. I’ve just realized my love for graphic design as I work more on my showcase. I’ve stopped drawing as much as I used to. And I love having pink hair. I can’t wait to read this in a couple of years and go “Wow, that’s funny. I don’t even listen to underscores anymore.”

I’m proud to say I’m not afraid of growing up anymore. I’m not “comfortable with the idea of graduating” like I said in January, I’m excited to graduate. I can’t wait to move on and change. I can’t wait to compare these moments in my life and I can’t wait to cringe at my blog posts years in the future. I can’t wait to become a different person, hopefully closer to the best version of myself.

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I was originally going to write about the 2012 “The Lorax” movie. I was going to write about how O’Hare could potentially be Asian American representation, how The Onceler should’ve never been viewed as a forgivable character (at least not any more than O’Hare), and how motivations of Ted were only for a girl way too old for him and he didn’t even care about saving Thneedville for real. I was going to write about how much potential that movie had to be a genuinely good critique of capitalism and how powerful that movie could’ve been and how you can see it in the concept art and the demo songs (that are on the soundtrack!).

I was so excited until I realized it would’ve been my last blog post as a student at MSA. As funny as it would’ve been, I did not want that to be my legacy. So I went for a personal essay (if you squint) about how I have nothing to say about graduation. And I think it’s really funny that “nothing to say” equates to 1,300 words. I’m really happy to say goodbye. AMERICAN GIRL/AMERICAN BOY is on May 4th at 6 PM in the Black Box.