This year has been nothing short of unforgettable. As a senior, I walked these halls with a bittersweet awareness—each moment was fleeting, each laugh, each class, each passing period might be the last time we’d all be in one place together. So I held on to every second. I cherished it all, because I know it will be a memory one day.
(I’m that friend that takes pictures of absolutely anything and everything).
I made more friends this year than I ever expected to. Real ones—the kind who turn quiet mornings into echoing laughter, who make even the longest days feel short. I’ve truly enjoyed every moment. Not because it was perfect, but because it was shared.
The mornings began with the stereotypical, hilarious chaos of conversations with Mr. Filkins. No matter what mood I walked in with, I left his room smiling.
AP Lit was another world. Every single book I read changed my brain chemistry. We dove into stories that stuck with us—talking about why The Awakening ended the way it did, whether Hamlet made the right choices, and why didn’t Winston check the picture frame. It wasn’t just literature—it was deep thinking, hard questions, and those class debates that made your head spin in the best way.
In AP Bio, the day mitochondria stopped being just “the powerhouse of the cell” and became “the ATP synthesis by oxidative phosphorylation” was horrifying. Suddenly, biology wasn’t so friendly (I totally didn’t choose to major in it or anything), but Mrs. Peña’s laugh, compassion towards us, and passion for the subject made the class tolerable—and even enjoyable.
In AP Gov, Mr. Johnson made class something to look forward to, not just for the content, but for the little side stories—like the time he met Strom Thurmond, and the odd yet hilarious interaction that followed. And Ms. Niino, who turned a simple shirt design into a full class debate—was it crooked or straight? She made us all feel seen, heard, and part of something.
And then there was Clarion. Walking into that room meant walking into laughter. Mr. Castle and his legendary dad jokes. The tension in the room when he scanned for a shy student to ‘send us out.’
“1, 2, 3—CLARION!”
A chant that still echoes in my mind.
But beyond the laughter, the daily chaos, the inside jokes—my friends are the reason I made it through high school at all. They carried me through. They stood by me when I couldn’t stand on my own. I’m endlessly thankful for each one of them. I only hope we never fall so far into our own lives that we lose touch. I hope we stay connected, grounded in what we’ve shared.
To my teachers—Ms. Niino, Mr. Castle, Mr. Machnik, Mrs. Peña, Mr. Tank, Mr. Johnson, Mr. Mitchell, Mr. Jones, Mr. Filkins, Mrs. Carrillo, Mrs. Quintanilla, Mrs. Long, and Mrs. Rodriguez—you’ve shaped more than just my academic journey. You believed in me. You pushed me. You stayed patient when I stumbled. Your voices, lessons, and encouragement will stay with me even long after I’ve left this place. Thank you for being part of my story—of my growth, my healing, and my future.
Mama. Baba. My pillars. The ones I lean on when life feels too heavy. The ones who hold me when I fall apart. You are the nurturing, healing presence I could never imagine life without. Your love holds me together. Your strength runs through my blood.
And to God—the only reason I am where I am. Thank You for guiding me when I was lost, for lifting me when I couldn’t rise on my own. Every success is yours first, mine second.
This year taught me about more than grades or deadlines. It taught me about friendship, love, respect, perseverance. It taught me to keep going. To speak my truth. To honor where I come from while reaching for where I’m headed.
I look back at my freshman self—quiet, unsure, small—and I hardly recognize her. But I’m proud of her. Because she kept going. She grew into me.
This fall, I’ll be attending Fresno State as a biology major. My dream of becoming a doctor is just beginning. I carry my friends, my teachers, my family, and my faith with me every step of the way.
Thank you for everything.
Until we meet again.
