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The afternoon the college entrance exam ended, as the final bell rang, I stood frozen in a daze for what felt like an eternity.
Three years can pass in the blink of an eye. So fast that I can no longer count the sleepless nights spent studying, relive the secret notes passed to my deskmate, or savor every meal from the cafeteria. The countdown on the blackboard went from three digits to two, then from two to zero — almost as if time itself had skipped a beat.
I remember when I first started high school, graduation always felt impossibly distant. I complained about early morning classes, mountains of homework, and endless exams. Yet the moment I walked out of the examination hall, what overwhelmed me wasn't the expected relief or joy, but a quiet, unsettling emptiness.
The very things we complained about, grew tired of, and longed to escape are precisely the parts of our youth we can never reclaim.
While clearing out my desk, I stumbled upon a diary from my first year. The handwriting was clumsy, with a single entry that read: "I wish I could grow up faster." Now that I'm on the cusp of adulthood, I find myself missing that awkward, younger version of myself.
Time pauses for no one, yet it solidifies in our memories. The sweat, the laughter, the confusion, and the perseverance — all have become the footnotes of our youth.
The exam marks both an end and a beginning. The next chapter brings new faces, new paths, and new horizons. May we carry the courage forged during these three years and journey toward our own mountains and seas.
