#highschoolmemories

[elijahmountainblogs]

[afroeccentrix]

Time hop on fb is garbage but sometimes gems crop up 💎 we’ve come a long way since 2008 💜 #throwbackthursday #highschoolmemories #dayoneish #purpleaesthetic

[lishazard]

Artwork from high school design class. The prompt was “advertise a theme park” I believe. So I created an advertisement for Atlantis, and no, there is some distance between this and actual originality.

[computerchickproductions]

Senior Prom Night

video is NOT AI

#SeniorProm #Prom2026 #PromNight #HighSchoolMemories #promfashion #contentcreator #thanksforwatching #computerchick

[oktabil]

Something Ordinary #6

Chapter 6: Irama Tiga Langkah

Bel pulang sekolah berbunyi, namun getarannya terasa menyakitkan di kepala Yura. Ia merapatkan jaket milik Yohan yang masih tersampir di bahunya—jaket itu kini menjadi satu-satunya sumber kehangatan yang tersisa.

"Eonnie! Ya ampun, wajahmu merah sekali!" Suara melengking Minji membelah keheningan perpustakaan. Ia berlari mendekat, meletakkan telapak tangannya di kening Yura. "Panas! Kenapa kau tidak meneleponku tadi siang? Aku kan bisa menjemputmu ke kelas."

Yohan berdiri dari kursinya, kembali memasang wajah datarnya yang kaku. "Dia kehujanan kemarin sore," ucap Yohan pendek.

Minji menoleh ke arah Yohan, lalu ke arah jaket laki-laki itu yang membungkus tubuh Yura. Matanya memicing nakal selama setengah detik sebelum rasa cemas kembali mendominasi. "Ayo pulang. Aku sudah menelepon Ayah, katanya dia akan pulang cepat untuk memeriksa Eonnie."

"Aku akan ikut," sela Yohan.

Minji dan Yura serentak menoleh.

"Maksudku... rumahku searah. Dan aku harus mengambil jaketku kembali nanti," bohong Yohan lagi. Alis tebalnya bertaut, menyembunyikan rasa gugup yang mulai merayap. Ia tidak bisa membiarkan Yura pulang hanya dengan Minji yang ceroboh; ia harus memastikan dengan matanya sendiri bahwa Yura sampai di kasurnya dengan selamat.

Mereka bertiga berjalan keluar dari gerbang Seorin High School. Sinar matahari sore yang keemasan menyapu trotoar Apgujeong, menciptakan bayangan panjang yang menari di depan mereka.

Yura berjalan di tengah, diapit oleh Minji yang terus mengoceh tentang obat-obatan dan Yohan yang berjalan dengan tangan di saku, menjaga langkahnya agar tetap sejajar dengan langkah Yura yang mulai melambat.

Yohan memperhatikan profil samping Yura. Cahaya sore membuat mata cokelat gadis itu terlihat sangat transparan, seperti kelereng kaca yang indah namun rapuh. Kulit pucatnya kini tampak sedikit berkeringat di pelipis. Berkali-kali Yohan ingin mengulurkan tangan untuk memapah Yura, namun Minji sudah lebih dulu menggandeng lengan Yura dengan erat.

"Yohan-ssi, kau tahu tidak?" celoteh Minji sembari menoleh pada Yohan. "Ibuku sedang membuat Rendang hari ini! Itu masakan daging sapi dari Indonesia. Baunya sampai ke lantai bawah apartemen!"

"Rendang?" Yohan mengeja kata asing itu. Pipi chubby-nya bergerak sedikit saat ia mencoba membayangkan rasanya. "Apakah itu pedas?"

"Sedikit! Tapi sangat enak. Yura Eonnie paling suka itu," jawab Minji riang.

Yura tersenyum lemah, menatap Yohan yang tampak serius memikirkan kata 'Rendang'. "Kapan-kapan... kau harus mencobanya, Yohan-ssi," bisik Yura serak.

Yohan mengangguk pelan. "Aku akan mencobanya. Selama kau yang memberitahuku cara memakannya."

Tiba-tiba, langkah Yura goyah. Ia hampir tersandung undakan trotoar jika saja Yohan tidak dengan sigap menangkap bahunya. Untuk sedetik, mereka membeku. Telapak tangan Yohan yang hangat bersentuhan langsung dengan kulit leher Yura yang panas karena demam. Mata bulat Yohan bertemu dengan mata teduh Yura dalam jarak yang sangat dekat.

"Hati-hati," bisik Yohan. Suaranya tidak lagi datar; ada getaran kecemasan yang nyata di sana.

Minji terdiam, menatap tangan Yohan yang masih enggan melepaskan bahu Yura. Suasana ceria yang ia bawa tiba-tiba terasa janggal. Di antara kebisingan jalanan Apgujeong, ada sebuah ruang sunyi yang mendadak tercipta hanya untuk Yohan dan Yura—sebuah ruang yang bahkan Minji pun tidak bisa masuk ke dalamnya.

Yohan segera menarik tangannya saat menyadari tatapan Minji. Ia berdeham kaku, kembali menatap lurus ke depan. "Ayo cepat. Matahari hampir tenggelam."

Mereka kembali berjalan. Irama tiga langkah yang awalnya terasa seimbang, kini terasa sedikit goyah. Yura merasakan jantungnya berdegup lebih kencang daripada rasa sakit di kepalanya, sementara Yohan bergelut dengan batinnya sendiri—menyadari bahwa semakin ia mencoba bersikap biasa saja, semakin ia tenggelam dalam keinginan untuk melindungi gadis asing ini.

“Ternyata, berjalan bertiga tidak membuat jalannya terasa lebih singkat,” batin Yohan sembari melirik sisa-sisa sinar matahari di rambut cokelat Yura. “Malah terasa lebih jauh, karena aku harus menahan diri untuk tidak memelukmu sekarang juga.”

[christianornot]

"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." – A. A. Milne

Forty years ago, with the scent of old wood and nervous excitement in the air, we walked across the stage in the old gym to begin our adult lives. Some of us went straight to work, others started college, and some were just trying to figure it out as we went along. Today, we are the ones who look back with fond memories and say, “those were the good old days.” The music of the 1980s has made a…

"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." – A. A. Milne

[christianornot]

Looking Back: 40 Years Since That Walk Across the Stage

At the end of May 1985, about 130 of us walked across the stage and received our diplomas. If you’re doing the math, that was 40 years ago. It’s hard to believe sometimes. With a class that size, you’d think it would be easy to know everyone—and for the most part, we did. Especially because most of the class had gone to school together since first grade. Kindergarten was optional back then, and I…

[yarkmagazine]

That One Light, That One Walk, and Everything Since – A Weed Memoir (Kind Of)

by Vile Murk or whatever version of me existed in 2015

Let me take you back to one of those in-between eras—either the last year of high school or what I like to call the “gap year of loaf.” You know the one. You’ve graduated, but you’re just floating. No real plans yet, no real rush either. Just life in a sort of hazy, transitional purgatory. That’s when weed first entered the picture for me—not in a wild or cinematic way, just a casual offer that turned into a lifestyle shift.

The first time I smoked, I felt absolutely nothing. Rookie mistake—I definitely wasn’t inhaling right. I think I just held it in my mouth like I was afraid of it. But the first time I actually got high? Whole different story. I remember staring at a light—just a regular-ass ceiling light—and thinking thoughts that didn’t even make sense. Just muttering “damn” to myself like I had unlocked the secrets of the universe. Then came the walk home. Normally a 25-minute trek, it felt like a pilgrimage. Two hours long in my head. I was behind this lady with a suitcase and for some reason that suitcase became like… a metaphor or a mirage? I don’t know. But I couldn’t stop staring at it like it was telling me something.

High school also had its little classic stoner movie moments. One that lives rent-free in my head is the time me and my homie came back from lunch—clearly high, no question. Her eyes were red as hell, mine probably looked like I had just been crying through a breakup scene in a rom-com. We walk back into the school, enter the forum, and boom—Spanish class awaits. And that’s when it happened. Our Spanish teacher, who was an absolute smokeshow—like, way too fine to be working at that school—stops us in the hallway. She looks at us, smirks a little, and just says, “You two have similar eyes.”

That’s all she said. Nothing more, nothing less. But to me and my homie? That was everything. It was like she knew exactly what was up but chose not to blow our cover. Just dropped the most casual, coded message like, “Yeah, I see you.” I’ll never forget her—mainly because she had that kind of unbothered hotness where she didn’t even know she was a baddie. The type that could’ve been cast in a CW show and wouldn’t have blinked twice.

From there, weed just became part of the routine. At first it was just smoking with friends, passing joints in parks, rooftops, basements—wherever the sesh could live. Then came the day I decided to cop for myself and got introduced to my first real dealer. Dude was like a weed mentor, trying to teach me to be discreet. This was long before legalization. I remember hotboxing my closet and getting caught by my mom, trying to convince her that it must’ve been a skunk outside or that I didn’t know what she was smelling. Like she didn’t raise me with functioning nostrils.

Then came my little dispensary job in the city. It was off-the-books, paid in cash, and lowkey sketchy. Every shift felt like I was stacking paper and dodging fate. My spot actually did get raided once—but on my day off. Pure luck. Felt like I was living in an HBO special.

Now? I’ve mellowed out. Still smoke, still indulge in an infused Rizzler when the moment feels right, but I’m not deep in that stoner lifestyle like before. Those early days though—those long walks, Lil Ugly Mane nights, closet hotboxes, Spanish class walk-of-shames—those were the roots. Just a kid figuring things out in a smoky blur. I’ve got more stories, maybe I’ll share ‘em in the next post.

For now, picture me walking into the sunset, blunt in hand, head full of thoughts, and just enough THC in my system to make the sky look a little more purple than usual.