To: Whoever Needs to Hear This

The moment finals ended, I felt an unfamiliar sensation. It was the nonchalant version of me spiriting away. Then again, maybe it was never there, and I never noticed under the mountain of Celsius-fueled all-nighters and half-hearted prayers to Canvas.

After months of blood, sweat and tears, I’d finally made the journey back home. I’d even raw-dogged one of my flights 一 no headphones, no Spotify 一 just me and my unfiltered thoughts. Dangerous choice, I know. 

And in that moment of raw introspection, I realized something (not so) shocking: I give a fuck. 

My first thought? Finals. Haunting me like every memory I had of embarrassing moments. Moments when the fire alarm went off in Santa Rosa and I had to come out mid-shower, or when I fell up the stairs to the train carrying my suitcase (who even falls going up?). But somehow this was worse. I reloaded GOLD like I was trying to buy tickets off Ticketmaster, cursing under my breath as my grades remained in hiding. 

Next up: situationships. As I sat there reflecting, I didn’t just think about the past year’s roster of misadventures. No, I took a deep dive into my entire life’s collection, all the book worthy romances included. I began to wonder if I was the problem. And then I thought even more about it (oh no!). I cared so much about every misstep, every “what if”, it made me realize: that I was maybe sometimes the problem. 

But then…back to GOLD. Surely by now, they’d posted grades. Nope. 

To distract myself, I scrolled through my camera roll, which was a big mistake. “Past me” was out there living life, partying in Europe and glowing. Meanwhile, present me was fighting for my life against impostor syndrome and wondering why every selfie I’d taken since midterms looked like I’d been exiled from joy. It was a stark reminder: nonchalance was my polar opposite. I carried every success and failure with me, everywhere I went. 

I then began to form my master plan, a series of text messages that I would send to all the people I should not. An extensive, yet detailed list of recipients. The more I thought about it, the more names were being added. Some were apologies, attempts to reconnect with estranged relationships. Others were the “what ifs” I’d never dared to say out loud. A few were just impulsive expressions of feelings I hadn’t even processed yet. I think you might be noticing a theme here: I care. 

Then I realized it was a Sunday. Never trust yourself on a Sunday. 

So I pivoted to my classic thoughts playlist: Why haven’t I landed an internship yet? Why am I not working at the White House right now? Why haven’t I solved poverty? Big questions for 11:47 p.m., but there I was, sitting in the plane, contemplating if my entire life path had been a wrong turn. 

Naturally, this led me back to GOLD. Still no grades. 

By this point, I’d had enough. It was bedtime, but my mind had other plans. As soon as my eyes closed, I wondered: What are my friends doing without me? Are they happy? Are they ok? I bet they aren’t laughing without me. An uncontrollable urge hit me: I needed to text them, “You hate me” followed almost immediately by “Are your grades out?”

Once that was done, I was sure I’d finally get some rest. But I was wrong again. Suddenly, I was romanticizing my future as a six-figure baller in New York, living my Harvey Specter life. This, of course, led me to Google career options. Three hours later, I’m reading a blog post on “Why Failure is Essential,” nodding like it’s profound. Giving a fuck? That’s me at 3 a.m., reading self-help blog posts as if they hold the key to my future.

And that’s when it really hit me: nonchalance is not my brand.

Returning home feels like a strange mix of relief and anticipation. I am relieved to have made it through finals (half-successful), yet excited to start again. I am working on “being in the moment” as my mom tells me to, but this break has been far too long for me. 

Maybe it’s a good thing. Caring means pushing forward when things don’t go as planned. Trying again and again to reach for my dreams. And of course, making a (hopefully attainable) vision board for this New Year. So I can proudly say, and I am sure you can tell, that I do in fact give a fuck.

And you can too,

Nina Rossi