Farewell'26: Observations & Chaos

People say events leave a mark on us. But what about the things we never focus on?

1. The Corner

I wasn't in the middle of the farewell. I was sitting in a corner of the food area, watching people move around with plates in their hands, conversations starting and ending just as quickly. It felt like the kind of place where no one expected you to be loud or impressive, just present.

A girl sat beside me. Then two more joined. We didn't plan to talk, but eventually we did. Somewhere between background music and claps from the main hall, we admitted something quietly. That we often feel excluded in settings like these. Not bullied. Not deliberately ignored. Just slightly out of sync with the noise around us.

That's when the phrase "socially awkward" came to mind. Is it really awkwardness, or is it awareness? Some people take up space easily. Others take time. Some of us notice before we speak. Sitting in that corner, I realised that maybe nothing was wrong with us at all. Maybe we were just observing what others rushed past.

2. The Banner

Near the photo booth in the food area, there was a banner that read: I Ignite Minds. It stood there confidently, watching over posed smiles and quick flashes. People stepped in, laughed, adjusted their hair, and stepped out again. The line stayed behind, unchanged.

I kept thinking about what igniting a mind actually means. It should mean curiosity, freedom, and the courage to question. It should mean being allowed to think differently without fear of falling behind. But most of school life is about performance. About marks, rankings, and approval. About learning what works instead of what's true.

Some minds flourish in this system. Others feel constant pressure. And some, especially the quieter ones, are rarely noticed at all. Standing near that photo booth, I realised how easy it is to print a promise and how hard it is to live up to it. Igniting minds isn't about words on a banner. It's about noticing the minds that don't demand attention.

3. The Question

Later in the farewell, the principal asked the Mr. and Miss Ahlcon finalists a question that felt heavier than the moment itself. They were asked to write about teens' perception of success and failure in life. Standing there, listening, I realised how familiar that question already felt to all of us.

For most teens, success is easy to recognise. It's visible. Good grades, achievements, applause, being known. Failure feels far more personal. Permanent, even. One wrong step can feel like it erases everything else. We're told these are the best years of our lives, yet we spend them quietly worrying about falling short.

Watching the finalists think and write, I wondered how many of us already carry definitions of success that don't belong to us. Maybe success isn't always being chosen or celebrated. Maybe failure isn't always being unseen. Maybe at this age, we're not failing at all. Maybe we're just learning, slowly, what matters to us.

Some things aren’t announced. They’re observed.