Wakefield will be attending USC in the fall.

As I walked in that day, nothing more than a mere, susceptible freshman, one thought came to mind: “Wow, these people are big.” Anxiously, I traveled the then mystical grounds of our campus, got lost, and wandered aimlessly several times. Finally, I found first period. I was tardy.

As I reflect on the four years at Arroyo High School, I remember those times. I cannot forget the time where I was sabotaged my sophomore year in that same English 2 “accelerated” class. When I discover who sabotaged me, I will make him or her feel my wrath. I can’t forget when my group underwent a “cleansing” of sorts, in which a sad man was made even more sad.

I won’t forget my terrible Spanish accent, of which the likes I’ve never found an equal, possibly with the exception of fellow senior Al Yen. To this day, I can hardly pronounce “hola” without shame. Our days of oral presentation in Ramirez’s class will never be forgotten. “Naranjas en mi cabeza!” stays a poignant memory. I won’t forget the day my dad visited my Spanish 3 class and attempted “espanol.” I think he patted me on the head, but I like to think he only embarrassed himself.

And how can I forget journalism? That time when I really believed that the Mexican Flag was blue, yellow, and green. But as I write now, I’ve already forgotten the true colors.

Also somewhat related were the burrito capers with my friends where we were often lost in translation. We moved onto junior year, the year of movies and AP classes. The year of “Indeed,” which starred me as a “BarbAdos!” native woman accused of witchcraft. I had fun adjusting to newly acquired “additions” to my body, some a bit lopsided, and most rather comfortable. In this year, a Spanish production called “Pipita” was created, in which I pranced about with my beloved doll and was terrifically abused. I earned an A.

The serious moments, though few and somewhat far in between, existed. From deep, contemplative discussions rife with elevated language to club troubles to relationship turmoil, I experienced high school for what was: a place filled with drama and stress, two things which often intertwined and resulted in girlish screams and guyish grunts from fellow students.

It began in freshman year. Confronted with a rather rough transition, I was compelled to actually work. When junior year reared its ugly head, I, as well as many, waved goodbye to sleep and hello to burdensome loads of work, heavy-lidded, dark spots under eyes, and forced smiles in the morning. Similarly, senior year greeted many with all-nighters during applications, the anxious wait for decisions, and the subsequent laughs at the whole process and admissions decisions. In sports, lack of personal records and loss of championships led to despair. Not to be outdone, however, I fought back with newfound determination. Luckily though, these serious times did not dominate my high school career and instead manifested themselves later on, where drama caused miffed glances, stiff responses, harsh looks, and countless topics for gossip. Topics involving relationships, infatuation, and quite possibly romance ensued and complicated matters. Fittingly enough, the weaker bonds of high school friendships bent and broke, fell apart and failed. But in the process, strong friendships survived and flourished.

On the topic of people, I can’t forget the students- phony, immature, annoying, genius, honest, loyal, athletic, passionate-there were as many bad ones as there were good ones. I thank everyone who ever talked to me- I’m sure I learned something from them, even if it’s that I shouldn’t associate with them anymore. I thank those who made an impact, helped me in hard times, ran with me, conversed and joked with me, even those who cared enough to greet me with a simple “hi” or “hello” in the halls.

I’ll also remember the teachers, who varied widely in everything. I thank the teachers who made the effort to interest, teach, and care about students, incidentally the same who made me willing to attend school. Nevertheless, I’ll forget many and feel less-than-enthusiastic about some, but I still greatly appreciate the select few who made students laugh, feel touched, and learn. Overall, I’m grateful. This is because I really have improved in reading, writing, and arithmetic.

As I sit here typing this senior farewell, one feeling, sure to return again, hits me: nostalgia. The four years have finally culminated in this last year, called senior year. A feeling of sorrow deeply entrenched in the soul grabs me. It’s a form of grief caused by what we call “parting.” And as I write this, thoughts of laughter flash by like still images, similar to that seen by photographers when developing pictures. Those carefree laughs surface, free of misery and woe, and filled with chuckles and hysterical cries of comical joy resulting from the latest joke. But not to be flooded one-sidedly, the images of my many serious talks and moments resurface like a dark floating weight, reminding me of the mental suffering and stress inflicted by and upon friends and family. In my mind, the picture of my often whimsical self shifts my self-assured smirk to a more austere gaze. Memories of innocent tears and besmirched frowns rip apart the still-frames of lit-up features caused by a failed hope, an act of injustice, the evils of man. But at the end of it all, there are the memories of experience. The hard looks, soft gazes, and gentle handshakes that began friendships. The grunts, complaints, and tired looks caused by stress. The stories of victory told by excited skips, jumps, cheers, and hugs. The stories pain of defeat and rejection told by downcast heads, few words, and forlorn appearances. It is high school that makes and breaks these wonders, these travesties, these shared experiences. And for that, the memories of 4 years at Arroyo High School will stay with all of us, if not linger for as long as our memories hold.

And now, as if a mirror is held up to me, that young, hopeful freshman glance suddenly returns. That same boy from four year ago has returned once again, only this time its youth is worn by age, its reckless hope weathered by experience, and its insecurity battered by success. But like a ghost, it disappears as quickly as it has come, becoming nothing more than a fragment of four years’ past.

Alex- We’ve been through moments of idiocy and humor like no other. Keep telling the jokes and especially keep telling it like it is. As creator of the A-men and the one who has bestowed me “a-master,” you keep things real. And stay 4 months pregnant forever, you old bum.

Pika- It’s true, it’s been twelve whole years, though in reality, 4 solid ones. Don’t give up the “Bay Once” and the “booty” that “rocks everywhere.” We won’t forget your alter-egos: Mama, Fat Albert, and the Pikachu. Thanks for the rides. I’ll seriously pay you back someday.

Hoss- You’re white, can’t be tanned, and I’ve known you since seventh grade, when you saved me from my idiotic self. I envision you as a rhino with an extremely large head due to a big brain- while driving that huge van you just got. It’s been good, and here’s hoping you get what you want. I’m sure you’ll find some at UCLA.

Victor- Numero dos, a goofball, and the one who told me about keystering. You’re like me in a way, except taller and more of a banana than even me.

Susan- The newly inducted “Duchess.” Once your mouth opens, we all laugh, not at you, but at the things you say about people, place, and thing. You’ve got a personality that only a Susan can have- hilarious but at the same time, able to kick anyone’s butt.

Deanna- I’ll get in the last poke, you just watch.

Tim- Tall white guy gone runner, gone hardcore, gone tall white guy again. Keep up the dedication that few have.

Mimi- Your support has been amazing! Thanks for playing the big sister role and acknowledging my artistic talents, and always loving them. You’re one in many. Maybe one day, a long time from now, I’ll actually understand your Xanga posts.

Brian- You’re a wackjob. Go sit in a room and help yourselves and others through extreme and bitter isolation.

Denny- You’ve got connections up the Ying Yang and can do things I can’t even dream of. You and Alex try not to kill each other. Manslaughter’s hot.

Calvin- You’re the feistiest, most cynical kid ever. In the end, I’m glad I’ve taught you things and met you. Good luck being the next, smaller version of Pika.

Valerie- Mi compañera en la clase de periodismo. Gracias para los laughs y los buenos tiempos durante el periodo cinco. Yo nunca olividaré tu pose pan graciosa.