Photos are deceiving. The photo of me (and my perm) below was taken on my last day of high school in 1989. And I look deliriously happy.
I was, of course. For starters, I didn't have to wear that uniform anymore. High-5 to that. Homework was over. No more having to sit through another minute of Biol or the textbook that haunted my dreams: The Web of Life. Hey Highschool, don't let the door hit you on the way out, is what my eyes seem to be saying.
Of course what you can't see is that I'm also completely terrified. Terrified at what did – or didn’t – lay ahead. Terrified at whether or not I would cope at university. That’s assuming I even got a high enough score to get into the Communications course I wanted to do. (Guess what? I didn’t). I remember being terrified knowing the group of people I’d spent the past five years with were all heading off in different directions. And that I’d kinda taken it for granted that all those faces – some loved and some loathed – were no longer going to be a part of my daily life.
So yeah – I remember that last term. And I’m reminded of it now as the media rolls out its annual "The HSC has begun" stories. Also because I've just released "Find Your Feet (the 8 things I wish I'd known before I left highschool)" - a book of advice for year 12 students of all the things I wish I’d known before I left high school and went out into the real world. Advice like, “Never date a man who has Cher tunes on his iPod.”
Joking.
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