There was a little friendly competition between the kids in my neighborhood when it came to getting spoons at Tappy’s Yogurt. We’d first pull our yogurts off the weighing machine, carefully crafted from the two toppings our parents allotted us, then wait anxiously for the bored teenage cashier to hand us the array of colorful spoons that came with them.

Those spoons were one of the highlights of Tappy’s, a place I consider essential to what makes Coppell mine. I was a fan of the blue; I was something of a tomboy, so the green would suffice as well. It is when it came to the pink, which was a kind of ugly bright pink, that the competition between us kids became fierce.

Tappy’s changed its spoons this year. They are something vaguely sustainable looking, the kind of recycled gray-brown plastic created from old shoes or bottles and the like.

As much as I love the place now, I go only because I want yogurt. It doesn’t hold the same joy, the kind I would get when my friends’ parents made a detour on the way home from a leisurely pool day, or when they would offer tasting cups before we even asked. It is not just because of the spoons, obviously. I do hate that they changed those spoons an irrational amount; but it’s more than that, and I think that something more is just my getting older. I think I hate that, too.

It is funny to say that now, though. I love the friends I have now. I love that by the time this is published, I’ll be 90 percent done with college applications. I love that I’m heading into the second semester of my senior year. I think I love, for the most part, the person I am now.

It is fair to say that this is the time I should be the happiest I’ve been in my life. All the components are there, and most of the pieces are coming together for those components which aren’t here. But there’s something, some underlying thread or feeling that makes me sad when I try to evaluate my current happiness. Everything’s changing: our paper with the redesign, my life moving into its next phase.

I’m a Taurus – we hate change, and right now, change is all that’s happening. It is about to be 2022, the year I’m going to graduate. I’m wondering whether I’ll go to college with my best friends and what I’ll end up doing for the rest of my life. There’s a question mark, prominently, where the answer should be.

I won’t get answers until April, maybe. There aren’t any replies to questions about my future to have wrapped up prettily in a bow, or even to be topped off with brownie bites. For now, I’ll wait for answers, and hope the next frozen yogurt place I love doesn’t go sustainable.

Follow Anjali (@anjalikrishna_) and @CHSCampusNews on Twitter.