It is November eighth, two thousand seventeen. My speech journey came to an end what seems like forever ago. I started this blog at the end of my freshman year, shortly after I fell in love with the joy of competing. Since then, I've seen victories and losses. I've had fits of laughter and choked back tears, tears so pressing that one day, that was all I was. Nothing more. But I'm not here three years later to talk about things that cannot be changed, like hours I should've practiced, or boys I shouldn't have cared about. They say everything happens for a reason, and I'm not one to question fate. Not one piece of my speech career was a mistake. And I know this because there are feelings that I cannot shake to this day.

When you come to college, if you come to college, give yourself an option. That's the only thing I can hope that you do. Because there are days when you'll wake up 2,406 miles away from home, where everything seems sane, and you'll wonder what the hell you're doing. You'll probably even wonder who you are these days. They say that college is a good place to find yourself, but I say, pace yourself. Go ahead and leave everything behind for a shot at whatever you want your life to look like 13 years from now, and once you make up your mind, don't turn back. But keep a little something in your pocket to help you get through the 9 am lectures, something small to remind you of who you used to be, who you are.

Be mindful of what you choose. Never settle for second-rate. You want something that makes your happiness almost tangible. You want something worthwhile that will leave you singing show tunes in your shower at the crack of dawn. You want something that you love unconditionally, even in ten degree weather, even when you fail. You want something that makes you feel worthwhile. And when you find that thing, tie it up with rope, lock it in your basement, and don't you dare let it go. Because that feeling is what stitches up all the small holes in our hearts.

And I'll admit that today, I still chase speech boys that I used to eye my freshman year, but maybe that's what keeps me going, just a taste of the real thing. This isn't some cheesy love note to speech and debate, a cry for help, or me wishing for a redo. This is just me admitting that I haven't found my thing out here in sunny southern California. One day, though. I left my constant in Ohio, where all of my friends and most of my family are. And it goes on without me. Maybe we'll meet again, and maybe we won't for a realllly long time. But that's a pill that I'm not ready to swallow; it's like another metaphor for growing up.

All the best,

Jala