I.

I come from a place of immense hatred. Where I went to school, hostility of all types was normalized. We’d have anti-bullying talks to avoid potential lawsuits, but when serious red flags were brought up to administration, they were shoved back down the pole. I’ll never forget when my classmates’ brother was escorted out of the building by police after making antisemetic threats defended by other students. And those days when my Spanish teacher had yelled at my class for doing too well on tests (we never cheated, we were just dorks electing to take all language offerings). Or the countless times parents asked parents for contacts to local therapists because their children were struggling. 

Naturally, I spent my entire middle school life staring at high school application forms. I needed out, even if that meant fleeing to a Floridian music boarding school I felt no attachment to. When I was eventually welcomed into Parker, I was elated beyond belief. It provided me a much needed opportunity to escape my past and settle into something safer. But, I’m a chronic worrier, addicted to pulling at the threads of my brain. And I was afraid of realizing my future to be a rhyme of my past.

So joining Parker as a freshman, I kept to myself. I thought it would make life a little easier. And for a while, it did. Yet, in the back of my mind, there was always a presence of a voice telling me to stop conforming. I don’t think I’ve ever managed that feat. 

I want to say I remember my first day of academic classes, but I don’t. I remember trying to remember hundreds of different names, places, and traditions – it got so bad that I had to keep a list of my first-day friends’ names on my phone because I kept getting them mixed up. I spent months choking on variable constants in an advanced math class I was never meant to exist in before I was lightly shoved out. During Websters, I’d tear myself apart and give little pieces of myself to three different music classes (and repeat it all during Clarks). When people asked about my ambitions, I said I wanted to follow in my late grandfather’s footsteps and graduate Tufts as a doctor. I did everything I thought was expected of me. 

Thankfully, I found myself by the end of my sophomore year. I used to spend P.E. classes daydreaming about my future career as an otolaryngologist in Brooklyn. But I quickly realized that wasn’t my dream, and was rather some fictitious personality I had latched on to attempting to fit in. Instead, I learned to embrace my authentic self and lent into my creative side, firmly deciding that I’d be much better suited as a playwright or investigative journalist. 

On top of planning my dream life like a game of M.A.S.H., I focused on a piece of defining rhetoric to live by: I will always live tomorrow better than today. Maybe that means holding the door open for one extra person. Maybe that means learning a new random skill. Heck, maybe that means reaching out to an old best friend just to say “hi.”

imaging a book cracked between the first and third pages

the beating of fluorescence on old bagel crumbs

windows chalked with frost

there must have been cellphones 

my name caught in someone’s throat – a precious thing

bruised arms and bloodied apples

busting open lockers hindered with age

stolen water bottles

your fingers drawn over your face

keeping tabs on old friends and lost lovers

tightness in a painted smile

does Penelope die in the end?

streaming past in rehearsed lines

pebbles across the Lily Pond

the old fourth floor chairs

tenderness 

III.

If it wasn’t for Parker, I am confident that I would still be a glorified version of a porcelain doll, perfectly molded, and yet completely hollow. The school provided me with infinite opportunities for academic exploration and still left me with the structure I needed to function. I was fortunate enough to have taken an independent study during my junior year. While I knew I was a writer at heart, my passions were broad and spread thin. I told myself I had the skills to write a 10 episode limited series in the span of 4 months. I did not. Instead, I wrote a two act play and was almost coerced into having my friends star in a single production. I finally learned to grow. 

That’s what high school’s all about – experimentation. Earlier in the same year, I started writing journalism on a whim and won two awards for my first ever article. I fell in love. While my luck wasn’t enough to get me a position as an Editor in Chief, my determination allowed me the opportunity to become a member of the Editorial Board for my final year at Parker. I spent years attempting to “perfect” my spot amongst cliques. I swapped friends groups again. And again. And again. I finally settled into my place as I was nearing the end of my third year. I’m not saying it’s easy to find your matches (I may actually argue the opposite), but change is a necessary part of life. You don’t want to become a stubborn rock in a distant river allowing tides to rush over you. Flow with the current. Learn to relax. 

IV.

I want you to ask yourself four things: 

1. When are you planning to address the present?
2. Have you decided on your outlooks? 
3. Where do you confront your fears?
4. Are you having fun?

Answer honestly. It will be okay. It’s okay to fail and it’s okay to succeed, it’s okay to laugh and it’s okay to cry, it’s okay to forget and it’s okay to remember. We are our struggles. Wear them on your sleeve and stand proud. Be human.