We've hit that time of the semester where we all start to lose a little faith in ourselves. There's one week left in the semester, maybe two, before finals hit, and we barely know what day it is anymore.
We stay up too late because there's too much to do and we're filled with far too much anxiety to do it anyway, and before we know it, it's three am. We have class at ten but we don't care because we're not really there even when we're sitting in our seats, barely pretending to pay attention.
We're all behind in at least one class and slowly realizing that we barely read for any of our classes this semester, wondering if we really learned anything we were supposed to.
But it doesn't matter, because finals are looming ahead of us, and there's no time to catch up. Because the papers have to get written, the presentations have to be given, and the exams have to be taken.
So we sit in the library until it closes at two in the morning and tell ourselves it was perfectly fine that we spent the last three hours watching Netflix instead of reading research articles, that it'll get done in time anyway. We tell ourselves that even if it doesn't, we're still doing something right.
It's hard. And we know it's hard. But there are are these voices telling us that we're wrong and, really, we have it easy. That we are being ridiculous for thinking this is difficult. That our struggles are illegitimate because it's only going to get worse.
But maybe, just maybe, we are right. Maybe we are the generation that is finally admitting to itself, to each other, that it's okay to admit that the world hurts. That sometimes the world hurts so much we have trouble remembering when it felt good to be a part of it.
Then we remember there are people out there who really do have it worse, because they are living everything that we are and more, all at once. Because the world is stacked against them in even more ways than it is stacked against us. And we want to make it better for them, we want to do what we can and do it the right way, but we don't really know what that means.
And we ask ourselves how we can possibly make it all better, all of it, for them and for ourselves? How can we, how can we when all we have room to think about is tests and papers? How do we also eat and get enough sleep to feel refreshed in the morning instead of exhausted? How do we also make time for the things we do that make us who we are? The things that make us happy and remind us how to breathe?
I don't have the answer. But that's kind of okay because maybe I'm not supposed to, at least not yet. Maybe if we can talk about it, we can find it. Maybe we can find a little faith.
