As a kid, I looked forward to high school as four years of lit parties, but the only lit I’ve done so far is AP. Luckily, my goals have changed since 2007, when I used to plan every little detail of my birthday parties in preparation for ones I’d throw as a teen. Essentially, I was all about the turn up before it was even a thing.Now, I couldn’t care less. The closest thing I’ve done to getting lit was at the 626 Night Market this summer. A DJ was doing his thing on stage, and employees started throwing out glow sticks. I guess you can say it literally was lit, but it was in no way a pleasant experience. The music was hurting my eardrums, strangers were pushing and shoving me, sweat that wasn’t mine was all over my body, and a foul odor settled up my nose—it wasn’t from the stinky tofu, either.
It could be that I don’t find what this generation stereotypically sees as lit enjoyable because I’ve never really experienced any of it. I’m sure I’m not the only one in school who’s never drank spiked punch in red Solo cups or gotten high at raves. This isn’t a declaration of what a goody two-shoes I am. I sure can be one, but I’m not every teenager’s mother: it’s not up to me what you’re doing in your free time.
It’s also not right of me to assume that someone who gets lit is a druggie and a high school dropout, nor is it right for others to assume that I’m a gloomy no-lifer since I’m someone who doesn’t. How often are assumptions even true anyway? Every person has their own backstory, and I can’t classify anyone as being part of some type of group simply by the number of parties they have or have not gone to.
Although my seven year-old self might be disappointed in my lack of parties, I’m not a bored homebody. Every time my friends and I horrendously sing along to the anthem of the century, Miley Cyrus’ “Party in the USA,” or when my mom takes me to Yogurtland for no particular reason, I know my life is lit just the way it is.
