19 minute read
Living an alternate path
BY TIMOTHY KIM
For many, freshman year is not much beyond a fond memory of youth, a cringeworthy point in life from which they grew as the rest of their high school years bloomed. When I think back to ninth grade, however, I bitterly try to push the subject out of my mind.
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I still vividly remember my first week of school and the disaster that P.E. class was as a student who didn’t know any of his classmates. I stood petrified and alone in the gym, surrounded by students playing basketball in groups I couldn’t approach for fear of ruining the good time they were having. For the first time in my life, I felt truly stuck in solitude, unable to speak at the new school I’d moved to because I was no longer at the age where I could easily speak to peers regardless of if they were strangers.
Toward the end of eighth grade, my parents informed me of plans to enroll me at Lynbrook instead of Cupertino High, where most of my middle-school peers were to attend. I realized this would mean abandoning most if not all my friends, which deeply upset me. The fact that my parents would not listen to a single plea shocked me to the point where I distanced myself for months.
That summer, I was incessantly told that attending Lynbrook was in the interest of my academic prosperity, and that I wouldn’t regret the decision. But above all else, the betrayal felt at having to move schools clouded my thoughts. By the time school started, I’d developed a rigid mindset to avoid talking to anyone.
Though I eventually did adapt thanks to sympathetic classmates, my stubbornness created an unstable period of isolation for several months. My avoidance of others led to heightened paranoia, molding an inability to speak to strangers that would stick for the rest of my high school life.
For much of high school, I was troubled by the thought that I wasn’t living the ‘correct’ path of my life and that things were meant to be different, were meant to be better. But over the years, I’ve realized moving schools was only a factor in this dissatisfaction — my high school life was what I made of it, and that’s something I’ve been forced to accept. With each setback I’ve felt an increasing awareness of my inaction; by refusing to face the inevitability of my environment, I’ve allowed much of my adolescence to be filled with unhappiness.
Though I was challenged by being placed in an unfamiliar environment, making friends wouldn’t have been nearly as difficult had I not been adamant on isolating myself — internally, I probably realized this throughout during my first few months at Lynbrook, yet I chose not to change. Had I gathered the courage to take action, how different would my high school life have been?
Following my head or heart
BY AMISHI CHANDRA
Throughout my whole life, whenever I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I confidently proclaimed, “I want to be a neurosurgeon.”
Yet, as I started exploring more subjects in high school, I quickly realized that my passions lay in a completely different field: political science. This realization left me at a crossroads when applying to college, torn between following my heart or following a path that would satisfy my parents.
From the moment I knew what a neurosurgeon did, I thought I was destined for that profession. It was a field both interesting to me and approved by my family. Yet, as I began the college application process and reflected through my personal essays, neuroscience lost its luster: my apparent interest was only surface-level.
In addition, everything I did in high school was more oriented toward humanities than STEM subjects. I participated in Mock Trial, the Epic and organized the school’s abortion rally. The only time I had even entered the world of medicine was the summer before senior year, when I decided to volunteer at a hospital while completing a prestigious medical program, none of which evoked a true sense of purpose.
Yet for some reason I could not throw away neuroscience. Every single college essay I wrote was political science related, yet I applied to every school as a neuroscience major. After listening to my friends talk about their alignment of majors with their extracurricular activities, I worried about my profile, but there was nothing I could do. In the end, I was accepted into many reputable colleges, but I still felt unsatisfied. I realized my true goal wasn’t the prestige of the college, but my field of interest: I yearned to pursue something in political science, so I started to think about potentially double majoring.
When I approached my parents about this, they urged me to carefully consider my options before making a hasty decision. As I was researching, I saw the prominent role of artificial intelligence in the modern world. All of a sudden, the puzzle pieces clicked; I could major in cognitive science, the interdisciplinary study of the mind and intelligence, to blend neuroscience, AI and political science. Although I may not be standing in the courtroom and enacting change through legal cases, I can still help build a better future with what I learn.
It wasn’t an easy decision to make, but it is one that I feel content with. I have learned that there doesn’t have to be a hard solution; I didn’t need to decide between one major or another. Instead, I forged a new path that bridges together my passions. I found a way to mix my two passions, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds.
Dear Elizabeth...
BY ELIZABETH CHENG
Hello! I’m in eighth grade right now, but you already graduated high school. You’re off to college! I’m thinking somewhere still in Calif., and definitely in the U.S. Williams is in a rural corner of Massachusetts. Maybe it will clear my head and help me focus. Or it will be one isolated delusional bubble — the latter isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Do you still want to be a teacher? I hope so. Maybe you’re off to college to study something arts or language related. I hope you have found your true passion through high school.
I like how you hide your fear of delving into the humanities. It might be due to our poor experience with Lynbrook admin or the examoriented nature of high school, but I don’t think teaching is the dream anymore. Curb your buzzwords for a moment — we know what we like to do, but it’s not quite clear how it translates into work.
I wish that you’re happy and have friends to support you along the way. Not necessarily a group, just people that will be there for you.
Wish granted. Zoom calls late at night, walks in the park during tutorial, exchanging music tastes on drives around the oh-so-fascinating suburbs. There will be too many flowers to carry on senior night, secrets that can only be shared during karaoke and neighbors disturbed from the booming bass coming from inside our car.
I want you to be satisfied with your life and your body, ok? You are beautiful! You already know that, but it’s just a reminder.
I also like the positivity complex. Thanks for the reminder; we’re still strong and getting stronger. How are sports? Still playing basketball, I hope. Have you picked up any new sports along the way?
Don’t be afraid to try anything new!
We will learn that those “never give up” maxims cannot be taken without context. There’s no reason to kill yourself over perseverance. It takes a lot of courage to quit — quitting means changing, and change is okay.
You’ve become more confident, I hope, more outspoken, willing to lead. Not afraid to speak your mind and do what you truly want to do. I know you’re doing well. Good luck on the next chapter! My confidence has fluctuated throughout high school; at the end of the day, I’m just trying to live and have a good time. I have learned to indulge in uncertainty and boredom as a form of hope and opportunity. After applying to college, I have learned how to prioritize my life even when it feels like I have none. I’m no longer afraid of working hard, just to fall after. I do things even if they make me a little uncomfortable (this column included!). I apologize — not I, but we. We enjoy going kneedeep, knowing that no matter what, at the end of four years, we tried all that we could. We did our best.
Love, Elizabeth
Rediscovering home
BY JASMINE RIHAL
In the beginning of my senior year, I had no idea where I would end up after high school: whether I would be staying or leaving home for college. As I weighed my options, my friends and peers constantly talked about moving to a different state or country. I felt like everyone would look down on me if I stayed home because I wouldn’t get the same experiences as them. Amid discussions and periods of reflection, I came to realize that staying home shouldn’t be stigmatized.
After I made my decision to attend San Jose State University, I wanted to live on campus my freshman year so I could still achieve that college paradigm of self-reliance, but my parents were adamant I stay home. We constantly fought about housing and what my future would look like. I felt completely defeated when they told me that staying at home was my only choice.
I carried this feeling of indignance with me until we sat down for dinner to talk in a calmer manner about the benefits of staying at home: not having to share a room and bathroom with strangers, having access to homecooked meals, not having to worry about the Freshman 15, having a strong and secure support system nearby, having a car that I could take anywhere and the chance to save money.
My parents and I also chatted about why so many students at Lynbrook want to move out for college. Lynbrook’s culture pressures students to obtain high grades and be locked into the Bay Area mindset, and as a result of this and other factors, many of my peers have a poor relationship with their parents that compels them to want to attend college far away from home.
But, I never felt this parentchild strain. In fact, I realized that another advantage of staying at home is how I can still be around my parents. All my life, my parents have done nothing but tell me that doing my best is all that matters; they never pressured me to excel in whatever I wasn’t comfortable with. I am grateful for that and the continued opportunity to connect with them further.
As a child, they knew how much I hated taking academic classes outside of school, so instead, they would sign me up for ice skating, swimming and other fun activities. When discussing my future, they never pushed me to go into any specific field while encouraging me to do whatever would make me happy.
Once I saw just how much I had underappreciated my relationship with my parents, all the money saved and the opportunities I would have despite staying, I got on board with the idea of living at home for college. I wouldn’t be who I am today without them, so why not spend a few more years calling them my roommates?
Four years of bad jokes
BY NEHA AYYER
Why did the scarecrow get an award? Because he was out-standing in his field. [Cue laugh track.] I know, I know; that was a really bad joke. It probably didn’t even make you laugh, but I swear my humor is usually much better than this. But these jokes (and much funnier ones) helped me cultivate a positive attitude to help overcome Lynbrook’s academic stress.
I still remember that fateful day in freshman year when I stepped out of my Biology class after receiving a test score that was much lower than I had expected. The multitude of emotions in my mind and weeks of burnout surprisingly culminated into laughter. Soon, the laughter turned into crying, and I felt myself slowly slipping into panic. Yet, as my tears started to dry, I felt relief from letting all my emotions out.
I’ve always viewed school as an obstacle in the grand scheme of my life as I reluctantly trudged through every day with a bright, neon sign reading “the future” hanging over my head. I needed to get good grades, apply for all the extracurricular activities I could and make college admissions fall in love with me. Yet, the expectation to do better than my best resulted in me doing worse than I imagined. I had to change the way I confronted my schoolwork if I wanted to stay afloat in this sea of stress.
Laughter helped me realize that the things I was most stressed about were relatively insignificant. By laughing at mistakes I made on tests or writing jokes in the margins of my APUSH notes and literature books, I started to improve academically. I felt less stressed, talked with classmates and asked teachers for help (who knew that would get my grades up?). I was becoming a person I was proud of.
Whether it’s self-degrading comments, nonsensical puns before exams or being late to class almost every day, I found ways to share my laughter with others. Making others laugh helped with relieving stress, creating a moment where people let themselves enjoy school instead of letting the pressure control them.
Enjoying school gave me a chance to breathe and focus on things that made me happy. I stopped seeking validation from the subjects and extracurricular activities I hated. I stopped trying to latch onto an idea of a perfect future.
These four years don’t dictate my life nor do they set up my success for the future. These four years showed me how to take a step back and laugh, even when I feel like wallowing in self-pity. I can’t control everything in my life, so why should I stress about those things? The future might not pan out the way I want it to, but I’ll always find ways to laugh. I’ve taught myself not to chase after happiness in the future, but to find it where I am now, in the present.
Hitting life’s curve balls
BY ANIRUDH SESHADRI
Stepping into a bustling fifth-grade classroom, I embraced a life-changing move from Chennai, India to San Jose, California, hoping for better education and brighter opportunities, but unaware of the challenges that would test my resilience and shape my identity.
The language barrier proved a major hurdle as English, not my first language, hindered effective self-expression, particularly in essay writing where my lack of emphasis caused a disadvantage. Coupled with teasing and mockery for my accent, it deeply affected my confidence and made me reluctant to seek guidance from others.
Amid these trials, cricket offered solace — a passion from my Indian roots — where joining the local California Cricket Academy brought belonging and familiarity, erasing cultural barriers and fostering camaraderie through a shared love for the sport.
Transitioning into middle school, the challenges multiplied as academic rigor escalated, straining my ability to keep pace; prioritizing studies, I reluctantly left competitive cricket, although my passion for the game remained steadfast. Setbacks in meeting heightened academic expectations and sacrificing my beloved sport eroded my self-esteem, leaving me uncertain and inadequate.
In high school, I grasped the significance of education, understanding the importance of strong teacher relationships with teachers and prioritizing my grades. Recognizing my weakness in essay writing, a skill that had eluded me since my transition from India, I bravely sought English tutoring, transforming my abilities and boosting my confidence. This newfound energy allowed me to invest in various aspects of my life, nurturing a blossoming appreciation for writing. Motivated to enhance my writing skills and explore personal growth, I eagerly joined the Epic and pursued new opportunities.
Looking back on my journey, I’m astounded by the transformative power of time and experience. From a 10-year-old dreamer with aspirations of becoming a professional cricket player for the Indian team, I have undergone a remarkable evolution.
Approaching the end of high school, I’m content and accomplished, having unearthed inner strength and resilience through perseverance and embracing challenges.
To those who find themselves grappling with their own trials and tribulations, view these obstacles as opportunities for personal growth.. Life’s journey is a tapestry of diverse experiences, woven with moments of triumph and moments of struggle. Embrace the complexities of life, cherish the diversity of your own story, and let it unfold in vivid hues on the canvas of existence.
Hoarding notes of high school
BY SRUTHI MEDEPALLI
Music is an unmoving constant in my life. As I became taller, my to-do list longer, my career ambitions uncertain and my stress levels soared, my ears remained plugged with the sounds of Jeff Buckley’s guitar, J. Cole’s reassuring voice or Kaytranada’s uplifting beats. My playlists, in themselves, are minipools of memories, each associated with a specific time in my life.
Entering high school as an eager future author and leaving as yet another computer science major is likely one of my most stereotypical experiences, feeling like I’ve succumbed to the pressures of a Bay Area high school, despite only ever being influenced by my own desires and self-discovery. While I’ve desperately clung to words through my extracurriculars, my drive to pursue the humanities career-wise has diminished, and I gravitate toward rows of brightly colored Matlab code more than size 11 Arial font. Yet I can’t fully shake my obsession with language, and it manifests through the collections of music and books that constantly occupy my mind and room.
“Hold On, We’re Going Home” by Drake- Windows down on a summer drive with my favorite people, probably halfway through the Prospect and Lawrence intersection.
“First Love, Late Spring” by Mitski- Reading “Kafka on the Shore” for the first time and sitting there staring at the pages, attempting to grasp what I just experienced.
“16” by Baby Keem- On repeat for all of my family’s 2021 Hawaii trip because the only music I had downloaded was from “The Melodic Blue”.
It goes on and on and on, each song marking a time in my high school life. Tangible music in the form of records or CDs is especially alluring because each piece to collect comes with history, a specific market or thrift store I purchase it at— the used books store in Saratoga’s downtown that is yet to exist on the Internet, a pop-up store my friends and I found wandering around Boston last summer, a present given by someone I love. While music encapsulates memories, the process of collecting it births new ones. Slipping the disk into my record player is a constant surprise, seemingly impossible that tiny scratches can assemble into the soaring symphonies of Beach House’s “Depression Cherry.”
Whether it’s the incessant nagging of a lyric that won’t escape my mind or just the Spotify app on my phone, I carry music with me at all times. In times I questioned myself or my reasons, music was there to question me back, fostering a safe space to experiment and think. And throughout each year of high school, it has allowed for my infatuation with words to persist. More than anything, it ties me to who I was yesterday, the day before and even tomorrow.
Bursting the Bay Area bubble
BY AMY LIU
Tears flowed down my face as I walked through the San Francisco Airport security check alone. Gazing out the plane window, I was terrified of the month I would be spending at summer programs on the East Coast. Little did I know that this trip would help me understand just how vast the world beyond the Bay Area is.
After landing, I sat in the baggage claim with a girl from Montana. She had taken three layovers to reach Washington D.C. and shared how no one ever leaves her rural town. Her peers are expected to attend college in-state and prioritize settling down rather than education. In addition, her town was extremely Republican and opposed masking and vaccinating during the pandemic. The stark contrast between her city and mine fascinated me. We were from polar opposite locations, yet we were attending a program on our shared interests.
Likewise, my roommate from Colorado illuminated regional differences between the Bay and other parts of the U.S. She had received a full-ride scholarship for horseback riding, a sport I didn’t know colleges had. When discovering that her friend had dropped out of high school at 17 and given birth, I reflected on the educational and social values that I had been taught, realizing that other cultures and communities may not share the same values.
This trip also made me confront my hidden bias toward non-native English speakers. One of the kindest friends I met was an international student from Indonesia. I preferred to spend time with classmates from the U.S., but once I got to know her, I was fascinated by her experiences at an international school and life in Jakarta. After I caught COVID-19 right as she finished recovering from her own bout of illness, she took care of me, retrieved meals and comforted me. Her selflessness proved to me how I shouldn’t be afraid of language barriers, as good hearts exist worldwide.
Prior to that summer, Lynbrook and the Bay were all I knew. I was shielded, even blinded, by my limited perspective. My constant grind through AP classes and extracurricular activities had clouded my compassion toward those who prioritized other goals above academics. I had known the Bay was unorthodox compared to the majority of the U.S., but nothing could have prepared me for the immense shock I felt from the drastically different life stories of my peers. Studying about the world is one thing, but experiencing it is another; I am more invigorated than ever to study abroad and learn in a more diverse environment.
The unique glimpses of my new friends’ lives have been a beautiful stepping stone in mine. They’ve opened my eyes to the world, and I can’t wait to see even more clearly at college.
Life lessons my body taught me
BY SAMYUKTA SARMA
“You never know what someone is going through” is a phrase that I’ve heard throughout my life, usually at the center of some sort of moral lesson. Never did I imagine that that “someone” would be me — unfortunately, my intestines and brain had other plans.
In the summer of 2021, I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease, an autoinflammatory digestive disorder that brought months of stomach pain, nausea and fatigue to my junior year. I lost a fifth of my body weight, half of my hair and all of my energy. Despite all the loss, I also gained; my perspective shifted as I reevaluated what was important in my life.
To cope with my health, I prioritized happiness. I cultivated my passions, such as writing; I spent time with friends; and I leaned on my family. I prided myself in my perseverance and positivity through it all, which was monumental after a multiyear struggle with social anxiety and self-esteem.
Although it was difficult to live confidently as I woke up in a seemingly new body everyday, I found a sense of self within my morals and personality. I struggled to find my identity in the early part of high school, but when Crohn’s took away the energy I poured into my facade, I rediscovered who I was at my core. Despite the times I’ve found myself confined to a hospital bed, Crohn’s has also set me free — I live unapologetically as myself with confidence in my values.
When I could no longer strain myself on academics, I learned to disregard the nagging feeling that I was being judged for my incomplete homework, extreme tardiness or tiredness in class. This brings me back to that crucial quote — “You never know what someone is going through.” Although I doubt my peers truly cared whether I turned in my homework, my own awareness of my performance increased my empathy. When it came to others, I began acknowledging that there could be some missing piece to the puzzle that could completely change my perspective.
With the confidence I gained from Crohn’s, I confronted the possibility that I could have ADHD — my missing puzzle piece. Since my diagnosis, trying medications has once again made me tired, anxious and plagued by tummy aches. But this time around, I already know to be kind to myself. Even with being self-conscious of my incessant hyperactive talking, I have become funnier and more open as I learn about a long-hidden part of myself.
If you take anything away from this, it should be to be kind to yourself and others. If you, too, are struggling to find your identity or experiencing a personal or health hardship, to end on a cliché, trust that it does get better.
If I had not planned it out...
BY SOPHIE AU
Link Crew Orientation. Club
Info Day. Homecoming. While all my friends were finding out about these opportunities for the first time, it was nothing new to me. I already knew the details of these events by heart, and I was close to finishing my plan for what activities in which I would participate.
Moving into high school, the knowledge that my older brother passed down was one of my prized possessions. I prided myself in knowing what lay ahead of me before my friends; what they were surprised by, I already expected.
Under the impression that everything I did in high school needed to eventually be in my college applications, I continued with activities I had started in elementary school to show my commitment — dance, music and activities showing interest in medicine and biology, the career path I thought I decided on.
Some of the groups I wanted to join needed planning ahead. By the spring of eighth grade, I had already joined Chamber Orchestra and Valkyries. I had summer practices. My first experience of high school was way before the first day of school!
Clubs I joined in high school seemed to depend on carefully calculated choices. I chose clubs that were not too big nor too small to maximize my chances of getting an officer position early on. I sweated my way through leadership applications — every opportunity seemed so close within grasp yet so easy to lose and mess up my grand plan. Every goal I set for myself became an expectation, and positions I didn’t get felt like failure.
For some activities, I don’t regret pre-planning — I would never trade my experiences in Chamber Orchestra or Valkyries for anything else. However, for others, after the initial euphoria of getting the position I wanted, the privilege slowly turned into a chore. I was an officer for so many clubs, and I had no time to join any new ones I wanted. What would it have felt like if I had jumped into highschool without knowing anything, figuring out my path as I went along? Having an expectation of what;s coming is comforting, but the more I knew ahead of everyone else the more I craved surprise.
For everything I did accomplish, each activity made it into one line of my Common App statements. Who knows how much each activity ultimately mattered during college decisions? I know now that every position I applied for was not guaranteed; at the same time, I will never know if there were any other opportunities I would have taken if I had followed my interests and done things differently.
In the fall I will be a freshman again. But this time as a college student, I’ll gladly be the one with no expectations or plans ahead of them.