Dear Semester Eight,
I cannot believe you’re finally here. I’ve spent countless nights in the library wondering if you would ever arrive. Or, if I would make it to you alive. There were so many nights that I wanted to give up on you, but now that you’re here I’m wishing I could do it all over again, and there are some things I have to tell you.
I’ve been through so much to get to you, to this final chapter. I have survived days from hell, weeks from hell. Hell, I’ve survived hell months. I made it through awful professors and exams designed to fail me. I’ve lost friendships and relationships and cried enough tears over them to fill all of the fountains on campus. I’ve survived Bomb Nights at Charlie Browns (RIP) and, even more surprising, survived the morning after. I’ve lived through undercooked food at Wag and pizza eaten on the curb downtown at 2:15 in the morning.
You have challenged me along the way to you, but you’ve also changed me. For every relationship lost a better, stronger one was found. For every professor I loathed there was a professor who inspired me. Through the trials, tribulations, and especially tears, I have become a better, stronger, wiser me on my way to you. Thank you for all of the lessons, for waiting patiently for me to arrive as the best version of myself that I have ever been.
Now that you are here, I commit to making the memories that I have wished to make along the way. This is the time to do all of the things that I have yet to do because I always figured I had more time until you arrived. I will check off all of the items on my collegiate bucket list because I owe it to myself. How many more times will I have the opportunity to watch the sun rise and set on the beach? How many more times can I elbow my way into the student section at a basketball game? How many more times can I laugh with my friends over coffee as we share our lives day after day? I say this not to be discouraging, but to encourage. You, this semester, was given to me because I worked for it, and I owe it to myself to fill these final months with all the dreams I have.
So here is to you, Semester Eight (or ten, or twelve, whatever). May you be filled with more laughter, memories, and smiles than any of the semesters before you. I promise not to wish you away, even when it’s 3 a.m. and my essay is still not done. I promise not to take you for granted when I’m swearing I’ll never drink tequila again (I sit on a throne of lies). Instead, I vow to cherish you in all of your moments, the good ones and the bad ones. I will be grateful as I laugh alongside my best friends, as I complete a grueling lab report, and as I walk through our stunningly gorgeous campus. I will look back on these days as some of my best, and it’s time I start to regard them as such while they’re happening. To my final semester: Our days are numbered, but I am certainly not counting them down.
With love and Seahawk pride–