I’m going to be the girl who falls at graduation. I have imagined myself falling so many times that at this point it is inevitable; I have undoubtedly engaged my muscle-memory by sheer force of imagination. Every time I picture myself falling, the probability of its occurrence inches closer to one.

According to Inglemoor High’s English and Theory of Knowledge teacher Jen Cox, “Every year, someone falls.” Cox, who was convinced she was going to trip on the stairs at her own graduation, said she remembers it every year. “I was so afraid I was going to fall … that was the only thing I was really, really nervous about,” she said. She walked down the stairs excruciatingly slowly and made it without falling.

Since I finished the last of my IB exams and began watching movies in the majority of my classes, my life has suddenly shrunk. All of the energy and intensity I would otherwise devote to planning the Honor Society induction, completing math assignments, studying biology or writing articles for the school newspaper is now devoted entirely to things like imagining my inevitable fall at graduation.

The ease with which I become fixated on things like embarrassing falls when I lack real projects to work on is alarming, but is not new. “I taught you to read,” my mother tells me, “because I was afraid that otherwise you were going to become the world’s tiniest arsonist just to keep yourself occupied.”

In retrospect — which has become very popular among seniors, now that we’re nearing the end of the school year — I know that I had to devote all my energy to something during high school. But I’m not sure that what I chose to devote my time to was really the best.

On one level, I can say I have no regrets and mean it, because I am happy with who I have become and where I’m going. But on an entirely different level, I am frustrated because I wish I had spent more time doing things like playing my viola, practicing HapKiDo and writing articles worth reading instead of planning Honor Society inductions and school dances, selling donuts to raise money for prom and then having conversations with very earnest administrators concerned about drug references in Inglemoor’s prom theme, “Fly Me to the Moon.”

The question of whether or not I spent my time wisely, in ways that allowed me to express myself authentically and explore my interests, remains itchingly unresolved. Even the pressure of having a column to complete and the desire to have a clean conclusion are unhelpful in its resolution.

Retrospect is on the rise, but it has not yet caught on; at this point, we’re really only feeling sentimental around the edges. I’m still annoyed by the same people, hurt by the same things and bored during the same classes. But there are times when I am, secretly, acutely aware that we are nearing the end. Standing outside the door of the IB math exam room, my friends were more devoted to learning about the ratio test for convergence than they were about reminiscing. I had a chance to be with them, enjoying one of my last frantic study sessions with all of them and knowing that it was one of the last times. Because they weren’t thinking about it being one of our last times together, there were none of those stumblingly sentimental moments or awkward pauses. It felt very much like waking up early in the morning and watching the world while it’s still unaware.

Inglemoor seniors have one week left. This leaves me with very few days I can devote to sorting through the question of whether or not all those conversations about prom themes were worth it. Luckily, I have little else to do, and the energy with which I survived being overcommitted during high school can now be devoted solely to completing my retrospective narrative — that, and not falling.

Hannah Joo is an Inglemoor High senior.