5/21/06, my bedroom: The ceremony that surrounds high school graduation is a lot like a funeral. All of your family members come dressed up and talk about your life and all of its achievements. Your friends reminisce about the good times you had together as if they are about to be cut off completely. Your mom (and maybe dad) cries. Then everyone goes back home and moves on with their lives. I kept telling my mom the entire time I graduated that I wasn't dead or dying. I assured her that I'd be back home about that time next year and a few times in between. Everyone acts like graduation is some magical day of your life, when really nothing changes except what people expect of you. I think people like to fragment their lives into segments, divided by sudden moments of change. I don't think life works that way. I think life is a continuous collection of infintessimal transitions, not a novel whose chapters are split apart at pivotal plot points. Wow, this is the sappiest snippet ever.

index.html