Crying when the silly tradition finally ended for you.
CRYING WHEN THE SILLY TRADITION FINALLY ENDED FOR YOU.
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We all remember them, don't we? The rituals that defined our time on those hallowed grounds. From the cathartic, almost primal screams before finals, a collective release of pressure, to the whispers of secret societies, cloaked in mystique and history – our institutions were steeped in unique customs. Some traditions we embraced wholeheartedly, others we rolled our eyes at, perhaps even hated in the moment for their inconvenience or absurdity. Yet, they were ours, part of the unique tapestry of our rigorous experience.
Then came graduation, or that last time participating in a familiar ritual. You might have found yourself unexpectedly misty-eyed, a lump forming in your throat, over something you once dismissed as utterly trivial. The late-night serenades, the oddball campus legends, the specific way we celebrated a victory or mourned a defeat. These weren't grand gestures, but essential threads in the fabric of our intense academic and social lives.
It wasn't about the act itself. It was the shared breath, the collective memory, the silent acknowledgment of a unique moment in time with peers who understood the unspoken pressures and privileges of our path. It was the realization that a chapter, defined by these quirky, sometimes silly traditions, was truly closing. And in that moment, the seemingly insignificant became profoundly meaningful, leaving an unexpected ache in our hearts. Those tears? They weren't just for the tradition, but for the end of an era, a final, poignant farewell to a remarkable part of ourselves.