Am I missing out?

There's been an influx of couple pictures recently, whether they are post-Winter formal pictures from my old friends, or proposals for my school's upcoming Winter formal. And this begs the question: am I missing out for not getting involved the same way seemingly everyone else is, especially us seniors?

This year there's this notion of "last." That this is our last couple of months together. That we just had our last first semester and that that was our last first day of high school. That that was our last football game. That that was the last time I'd ever hit a tennis ball for the foreseeable future. That it's my last New Year's Eve before adulthood. That that was the last Super Bowl before college and not once did I watch it with friends or family. That that was the last time I would ask Mrs. Doan for a letter of recommendation. That this is our last Winter formal. That it's my last chance to experience everything for a first time. It's bittersweet.

Last year, and for a good portion of this year, I was under the mentality that it was only a matter of time before I could leave the place I dreaded most - and that's why I never made too much of an effort to connect with the school. I was always very apathetic, never going to a single school-sponsored event, barely participating in clubs and never going out of my way to talk to anyone which was contrary to most of the student body. Recently, a seed of doubt has begun to grow in my mind about this mentality. That maybe I should've put effort into putting myself out there. That maybe things would be different and I wouldn't be in the position that I'm in. And it's all hitting me now - maybe school isn't as bad as I think it is; maybe that's just a coping mechanism, protecting me from the fact that the real problem isn't everyone else - it's me. And maybe if I realized that earlier, there would be a part of me that would consider actually going to my last Winter formal of high school. In fact, I'd actually dreamt up a proposal, which I wholeheartedly believe is better than any I've ever seen before, without anybody to dedicate it to.

It would be at a local park, special to the two of us because of the nights we'd spent there stargazing and contemplating the future. We would have an open karaoke or concert type of thing, with all of our closest friends in attendance as audience or participants. We would be performing in a group of four or five, she and I would be the two lead singers and the rest would play the instrumentals, maybe a piano and an acoustic guitar. We would sing through some of our alternative/indie favorites, like Radiohead's "No Surprises," The Strokes' "Ode to the Mets," and Ricky Montgomery's "Line Without a Hook."

The final song would be NIKI's "Every Summertime." And we'd have the most unbreakable chemistry throughout the performance. As we approached the final verse, she would flash a small, wistful smile, like she knew that a memory we would treasure forever was coming to a close, and she appreciated every moment of it. Reaching the last verse, I would sing, "Every day is summertime," then she would echo it back, "Every day is summertime," then in unison we would harmonize on the closing line, "Every day is summertime with you." And during this verse, we would have the most intense eye contact that said, "I could imagine a future with you." Eye contact that made us both feel invincible, that with each other we could accomplish anything. I would get lost in her eyes, and she would get lost in mine, and it would ignite a fire that even those in the back of the audience could feel the warmth of. It's the type of connection that feels like a gentle caress and smells like roses.

As the instrumental nears the end, a large poster slowly unravels behind us. It would say something like "Your eyes are so radiant, your smiles are so warm. I cherish every moment I spend with you, you shine so bright. You are my summertime. Formal?" The poster would be decorated with all sorts of warm yellows and oranges, like sunsets and sunflowers and a Maui beach on Saturday afternoon.

She wouldn't notice it at first, after all the poster was behind her and the adrenaline was still pumping through both of our veins. But the audience would scream, and she wouldn't have a clue why. At last, I would gesture her to turn around and I would point towards the poster. She would scream, lost for words, a mixture of shock and gratitude. And nothing would describe the moment more than a box of heart-shaped chocolates, a hug and a screaming audience.

But that's just my imagination and hopeless romanticism in full effect. And after every hallucinatory daydream, I come back to reality. Will I regret not seeking experiences like this? Will I regret not taking a risk and pursuing my dream proposal?

Will I regret not putting myself out there? Will I regret not talking to anybody? Will I regret the hours I've spent walking through campus alone nearly every break and tutorial? It's not like I truly felt lonely observing all the harmonious friend groups throughout campus while I walked by myself. Sometimes, I do think it would be nice to have someone to walk with, but I also think that it's unrealistic to find someone on campus that meets all my expectations and shares the same interests and sense of humor that I do. And maybe I shouldn't expect perfection, but I go into every friendship with the belief that it'll last a lifetime.

But still, will I regret pushing everyone away that tried to push me out of comfort? Will I regret how badly I treated other people who cared about me? Will I regret being unable to match the energy they gave me? Will I regret my social anxiety? Surely that isn't my fault, it's out of my control isn't it? I guess I could've put a bit of effort, or maybe more than just a bit, towards maintaining closer contact with my friends. But I'm really bad with starting conversations, especially. Maybe sometimes I'll say a quick "hello," when I see someone in the hallways and move on with my day, if you're lucky. Other days I'll maybe give a nod of acknowledgement. The truth is I am nothing outside of comfort. I am terrible at coming up with things to say on the spot, especially if it's a topic that doesn't cross my mind very often. And with how much more proficient I am texting as compared to face-to-face conversation, I often wonder if I form personal connections, or if I really just create empty words on a screen.

But still, will I regret not taking chances and opportunities I should have? Will I regret not learning to drive? Not going to the beach enough? Not having enough journeys in my hometown? I always called Irvine boring. That there was nowhere to go near me. That I was so convinced the Spectrum and the Great Park and the beach and the movie theater and Boba and popcorn chicken were so overplayed and cliché that I would never enjoy them, but maybe I was just too blinded by the myriad of social media posts that I never made the connection that it was the people you spend time with that made the experiences worthwhile.

So will I regret that, when it's all said and done, everyone else will have memories of nights out but I'll just recall staying up until sunrise in my bedroom? Will I regret not saying something when I could have, when I should have, but the knot in my stomach pulled itself tighter and told me no? Will I regret Valentine's Day? When my solo expeditions during tutorial led me to the back of the school, where she was walking, alone, carrying three pink balloons. The split second of jarring eye contact, a million thoughts raced through my mind but I didn't say a word. Will I regret it?