After freshman orientation in August of 2021, I went home and decided to use a big, oversized scrapbook as my high school journal. 

Today, a lot of pages are still blank, but the moments I did capture now feel like small symbols of what these past four years have meant to me.

And I hope some of them find their place in this senior column.

School is so hard. October 2021

I wrote this statement after getting an F on my Algebra 2 Honors quiz. Months into high school, I had already failed several tests. I realized how rigorous and demanding AHS is, which remained true for the next four years. 

As an underclassman, I often felt lost and behind in rigorous courses (I still do). Looking at the peers around me, I couldn’t help but admire the intelligence many possessed. I wish I could just be like them: unafraid enough to share ideas, confident enough to articulate words without second guesses, effortless enough to get an A on tests without overnight studying. 

Time passed; I changed. Luckily, there was a certain kind of joy behind all the self-doubt I had dealt with. 

Through those academic challenges, I had the privilege of forming some of the most meaningful relationships. As much as I sometimes felt intimidated by the competitive environment, I was surrounded by brilliant, kind minds. I’m grateful to have known and learned alongside them. 

I also couldn’t have made it through without the support of my teachers. Mrs. Rolfe would patiently explain the math problems I couldn’t grasp during lunch. Ms. Wright believed I could be a great writer from the start. When I attempted to drop Chemistry Honors, Ms. Kuso spent two lunches with me to understand my struggles and met me where I was in the kindest way.

I started to slowly find my own pace and meaning. I joined the Constitution Team, tried out science podcasting, took an AAPI studies class… Waking up at 5 a.m. to finish APUSH notes felt tedious, but discussing how the past shapes the present was genuinely intriguing. I learned what it really means to learn. 

It never truly got easy, but I wouldn’t trade any of it.

I live for myself. August 2023

At the beginning of junior year, I quit all the clubs and academic teams that didn’t bring me joy. I didn’t know who I was. I tried to find an identity, a passion, that everyone else seemed to have.

I didn’t even bother trying out for certain teams because I was too intimidated by the qualified people around me. Even for the organizations I did try out for, like ACYC and DCI, I faced flat-out rejections. 

It’s through my friends that I found my way into The Period Poverty Club and Ethics Bowl. They weren’t big organizations, but I was happy to be in them. The people I met brought me many laughs through tough days; I was moved by hearts that carried both humor and humility. 

Then, The Quill was the only application-based organization that accepted me. For the first time, I felt like I belonged. I found a presence on campus by talking to people I never imagined I’d talk to, exposing me to a world I hadn’t envisioned. Still, in a sea of civic, politics, and STEM enthusiasts, a passion for journalism felt out of place. But if this was one of the few spaces that welcomed me, and if I found meaning in it, why not live for myself and stop caring what others think?

Sure, I wasn’t the type to stand in the spotlight, wearing sharp suits or offering polished introductions with impressive titles. But I could use my words to bring other voices into the light—and maybe that was all I ever needed.

 it doesn’t feel real.  February 2024

I wrote down this line after I got several recognitions for my journalism work.

In junior year, I had already been reporting and editing for The Quill, and participated in some outside journalism activities. I realized that nothing made me happier than telling a story that I cared about, so I was extremely happy to have my effort recognized. 

I started pouring my heart into journalism, to the point where I gave up late-night shows and skipped weekend hangouts to fully embrace the role of a student journalist. It doesn’t always feel real because journalism comes with tremendous obstacles. For certain topics I wrote about, it’s tough to have my vulnerabilities exposed to public scrutiny. I received hate comments and harsh criticism; the rejections felt endless. For my 16-year-old self, it was an arduous yet rewarding journey.

I’m lucky because I’ve learned to face these challenges with confidence—the support I received came freely and fully. Mrs. Lee has always believed in my journalism ambitions and entrusted me with responsibilities I never imagined I could handle. Mr. Woodin connected me with his former students, now journalists. The guidance and mentorship I received from many professionals was equally unconditional.

Although journalism often consumed all my free time and sometimes felt painful, I don’t regret a single moment of it. I realized many underlying issues and ventured into activism through writing Op-eds. I told stories with color and brought perspectives people might not have otherwise considered. 

After all, reading my words in a national anthology and seeing them cited by college students feels surreal.

I feel empty. April 2025

I wrote down this line fairly recently, near the end of senior year. 

Senior year was the time I doubted my identity the most. I faced the challenges of leading my clubs, enduring the prolonged Gov Team chambers, and managing time between school work and college applications. I met new people who challenged the way I think and communicate.

Now that it’s almost all over, I feel like something is missing. It’s only recently that I truly understood what past seniors meant when they warned about the high-achieving mentality at AHS. While I don’t regret my priorities, there are lessons I wish I had learned earlier. 

There were so many classes I couldn’t take, so many people I never met. I wish I had known that one bad grade didn’t mean I was undeserving of time with friends, and that the op-ed I wrote on junior prom night wasn’t as important as I thought. In the end, college acceptances didn’t assuage my insecurities; the grace of being a good friend and daughter meant more than any gleaming accolade.

I’m glad I’ve learned these lessons now, so I can approach college with a different mindset. Above all, I’m incredibly grateful to have been a part of AHS. Even though I didn’t have a wide circle, the people I kept close taught me what it means to stay grounded, be true to myself, and take responsibility for my mistakes. That alone was meaningful enough.

I don’t know what the next four years will look like, but I know that I’m both excited and nervous. Being in Chicago feels so much different from LA (Or maybe I’ll like it more since my friends all described me as having a midwestern vibe? I’m not sure). I’ll once again be a freshman, intimidated by the sharp minds and pre-professional air. I’ll once again be surrounded by diverse talents and challenged by new experiences. I’ll once again be pushed to see the world in new ways. 

Those thoughts make me feel small, but I’m sure greater things await.