By Gabriel Bernales
ABBA said it best: “Young and sweet, only seventeen.” But what did they know about being seventeen? What did they know about feeling stuck between wanting to be a kid forever and craving the independence of an adult? Seventeen is just this weird middle ground—not old enough, not young enough, just kind of floating. We are confused, we are desperate, we are burning up inside, and we are breaking apart at the seams. We are ready to take over the world or completely fall apart trying.
Seventeen is just a mess of contradictions. Where is my teenage dream? The movies made it seem like high school would be full of perfect moments and first loves that felt like magic. Instead, I got anxiety, existential dread, and constantly worrying about what people think of me. I was a people-pleaser, addicted to the approval of others, running on the validation that barely lasted a day. Our eyes were full of dreams, but already, reality was creeping in. I couldn’t stop it; it was inevitable. And yet, we all thought at least once, “You only live once,” so we kept making dumb decisions, hoping they’d turn into good memories.
Romance? Yeah, we were all clowns for love. We wrote our crushes’ names in notebooks like it meant something. Played FLAMES, convinced ourselves that a text from them was a cosmic sign. We met someone, talked for a month, and suddenly they were our soulmate. And when it all fell apart, we’d lie awake over-analyzing every word, every emoji, every “I just need space.” How did we fall so hard for someone who didn’t even deserve a second thought? Love is embarrassing. But we learn, eventually.
Mistakes and heartbreaks? Yeah, we know them well. Seventeen and in love is a rollercoaster you don’t even realize you got on until it’s crashing. Breakups hit like a train, but instead of moving on, we made it our entire personality. Our friends were probably sick of hearing their name, but we couldn’t stop. We told ourselves we could handle seeing them, act like nothing happened. Biggest lie ever.
At seventeen, we think we have everything figured out, but we don’t. We say we’re wise beyond our years, but we’re really just kids pretending to be grown. We want to be different, to be special, to make some kind of mark, but we’re just here, figuring it out like everyone before us. The birthdays will keep coming, the candles will keep burning, and we’ll grow up. But the memories of being a teen will always be there, playing like a song we can’t forget.
For me, seventeen was the year I stopped caring so much about what everyone else thought. The year I let myself be who I was, found my people, and let go of the idea that I needed to have everything figured out. And as I step forward, I’ll keep those moments with me—the good, the bad, the embarrassing.
In the defense of teenagers, just remember: we’re all the same, just in different fonts. We were once seventeen, and, it was a ride.
