Seventh grade is drawing to a close. At first glance, it felt that it would never end—but now it is, and I feel remarkably similar to the Jessica from last year. And the year before.
There are some subtle changes. This Jessica is a few millimeters taller, has slightly straighter teeth, and finally hacked off seven inches of her hair. Instead of saving up a few meager dollars for a chance to go to Crunchyroll Expo, she’s begging her parents to let her see a live BTS concert. Most of the music she listens to isn’t in English anymore. That cursed donkey laugh is still around, but these days it’s accompanied by over-enthusiastic hugs.
My social circle might not be that wide—but that’s okay. Quality over quantity. Besides, this year was like one long bonding experience. Crying into shoulders together, screaming about wardrobe malfunctions together, confessing dark secrets together: my friends and I have done it all. Unlike last year, I feel no pressure to fit into a typical Asian trope; my friendships wouldn’t be built on trust if I wasn’t honest about my personality. That said, I’m sure some of them would rather dig themselves into a dark hole than listen to me sob over BTS one more time.
School has been “fine”—or at least, that’s the only things my parents hear. There have been many a sleepless night as I fret over my fluctuating grades. It’s all working out; I believe that my report card will escape seventh grade unscathed.
Seventh grade has been good year. Good friendships, (arguably) good grades, good food. These past hundred-something days have taught me that I don’t need to have extravagance, or an intellectual breakthrough, or any particularly ambitious pursuit. For some years, all you need is good.