There’s something about spinning in teacups that makes everything else fade away. The faster you spin, the more the world blurs until all that’s left is you.

Senior year will ask you a question that feels just as disorienting: Who are you?

Somehow, between deadlines and late nights, colleges expect you to distill your entire existence into a 650-word essay. It’s supposed to capture something definitive. Certain. I kept searching for a single, clear version of myself, something stable enough for me to write down. But the more I searched, the longer my document remained blank.

Over the past few months, I’ve realized who you are won’t come to you in the span of a day, a week or even a month. It’ll come to you in pieces.

It’s heartache, in the form of unread texts and missed calls from people you thought would stay without question until they didn’t. It’s the crushes that lingered for a while, not always because of how long they lasted, but because of the remaining feeling of being understood and cared for. It’s new greetings like finding yourself joking with a junior you met this year or even becoming best friends with people who were right in front of you but never clearly in your vision. 

It’s early mornings started with an iced americano and a bagel in hand, just enough to get through class without dozing off. It’s going on a Target run on a random Tuesday to buy Swedish candy after seeing people eat it online. It’s stepping out of the house during testing season to get a sweet treat with friends to refuel, even when it feels like there’s no time to spare. 

It’s learning to let go. Not everything needs to be held onto, and not every moment needs to be replayed over and over. And, it won’t. The things that stay will stay for a reason, whether as a grace or a gift. 

And above everything else, it’s love. Love is the core of our experiences in high school.

It’s the love in friendships that become routine, the people you text without thinking, the ones who know how you take your coffee, the ones you send random memes to. It’s the love in the small consistency of seeing their faces every day and realizing they’ve become a part of your life. It’s the love of teachers who met with you outside of class to help you with your writing, who remembered how to pronounce your name “Mari-belle” not “Mary-belle,” who had faith in your abilities before you knew how to see them in yourself. It’s the love in moments that didn’t feel significant at the time. 

I have loved my life here, from the beginning, the middle and now the end. And when the spinning slows and the world comes back into focus, I’m still here piecing parts of myself together.

So, who am I? 

I’m high school Maribelle, the girl who cares a little too much about everything and everyone, but has fallen in love with being 17.