Ode to the little things at Nueva

STUDENT STANDOFF

How productive is Nueva's approach to restorative justice? What could be done better?

The sounds, places, and memories that shaped my high school experience

Caltrain: As the train pulls into California Avenue station and the yawning sun paints the dirty gray train silver and gold, I step on and find myself caught in between conversations. Stories from fellow commuters traveling in wisps from the front to the back of the train car. Riding the train for the past four years is catching a glimpse of the spaces in between: in between stations, cities, and people. It’s a space to cross paths with old friends who now attend different high schools, with strangers, a space of movement and change but also familiarity—and admittedly, a space to cram my block one homework.

Portable 1: First, it was squares on a screen; then, a portable classroom out in the parking lot behind school. Cluelessly

But now, Journalism reminds me of this portable classroom. Clang—footsteps on the metal ramp as someone walks up to the door. Thump—stacks of our months of work wrapped in string landing on our desks. It is in this temporary classroom where I discovered a lasting sense of community and growth. And while this box of a classroom remains isolated in the back parking lot, it became a portal to all the stories and perspectives we’ve uncovered and stitched together.

My people: I can firmly say there is little time spent in silence when I’m with them. From the shrieks of joy when we see each other to singing along to the new song we’ve become obsessed with, the voices of my friends surround me every day. As we fill our mugs by the tea station or trek up to the third floor,

Lucky number 13

The gift of being a Nueva Lifer

It’s easy to dismiss magic when you’ve never stepped inside the Fairy House. The quaint blue house, nestled right beyond the edge of the Ballet Lawn on the lower school campus, was where I first experienced the enchanting power of Nueva. As I opened that Fairy House door on my first day of kindergarten, I imagined all the different fairies that would await me. What I didn’t predict was that this would be the place where I would grow wings of my own.

They say you are a mosaic of all the people you have ever met and all the places you have ever been. If that is the case, then Nueva has stolen the largest tile of them all. This school has left an indelible mark on who I am as a person and who I will continue to be. As my time at this school comes to a close, and I begin to write the final sentences of this chapter, I prepare myself to step out of Nueva’s familiar embrace. I prepare myself to leave the only second home I’ve ever known.

Thank you Nueva for 13 years of a thousand moments I have taken for granted— mostly because I assumed there would be a thousand more. Thank you for teaching me to dive head-first into vulnerability and wrestle with the uncomfortable, to separate curiosity and judgment, to make beauty out of the convoluted, and to never lose sight of the unreasonable passion we have for the things we love.

And to my fellow Lifers (you know who you are), thank you for joining me on this journey since day one. Although we have reached an end that once felt impossibly far, for a long time, we have grown side by side. Our roots will always be tangled, and I’m grateful for that. The 17 of you have shown me how to climb the slopes of life with compassion, curiosity, and perseverance. From mansion sleepovers and gingerbread scavenger hunts to chicken mummifications and brown bag concerts, there is no group of people I would have rather wanted to spend over 20,000 hours at Nueva with. from the previous night—like how Serena dreamt she had to swim to board the prom boat or how I dreamt we were older but then we laughed because growing old seems impossible when we are together.

I reflect on my years with both a bittersweet nostalgia for what once was, as well as an uncertain excitement about what will be. As I roam through the forts on the lower school campus, and wander the hallways of the upper school, I am often reminded of how fortunate I am to have had Nueva. I’ve realized the simple fact that endings are almost always a little sad, even when there is something to look forward to on the other side. While this chapter nears its culmination, I know the ink will bleed into the other pages. I know the Fairy House magic will continue to surround me and the door remains open if I ever feel like coming home.

Thank you, Nueva. It’s truly been the best 13 years.

Thinking about my time at Nueva, my memories surface through sounds; my inner ear echoes with a melody of voices, music, and laughter. And as I’m typing away on this article for my fourteenth and final issue of The Current, I’m reminded of the beat of our shared “Comms room crunch” playlist (beginning with Taylor Swift’s “All Too Well”) and the voices of my fellow writers, LiAnn, and Jen Paull as they helped craft this with me—a fulfilling feeling I know all too well myself.

“While this chapter nears its culmination, I know the ink will bleed into the other pages. I know the Fairy House magic will continue to surround me and that the door remains open if I ever feel like coming home.”