Graduation Celebration

            A picture worth a thousand words. There are 1,025,110 words in the English language. Today, I am challenged with this opportunity to present a graduation speech where 600 of the one million possible choices will come together as one body for one purpose: To encourage and motivate you all, Galileo's graduating class of 2014. Today marks the transition from our little classroom bubble to the reality of the outside world; from the purple lockers of the halls of Galileo to the new opportunities hidden behind those still closed doors; from leaving strangers we now call friends to meet new friends we will at first call strangers. Today marks the end of a four-year long process.

            In this process we found in ourselves, what we love, who we love, and why we love; what is important to us, and what makes us not only better scholars but better individuals. Some spent four years running bases, making touchdowns, repeating drill after drill after drill, spent four years in a classroom, taking notes, studying, trying to understand those endless lines of letters on endless pages that you have to memorize only to forget the next day. Some will say that this might possibly be the best four-year of your life………..… Some spent four years in pain, in suffering, in loneliness. I would be lying if I said these four years were fun and easy. I would be lying if I said the struggle is now over. I would be lying if I said the future is waiting for you outside those wooden doors.

            The truth, the scary truth, is that from here on out, it will get harder; it will get scarier, and behind those doors are only more challenge for us to face. From this moment forward, we are no longer children. We are the young adults that all these parents and guardians, teachers and staff, friends and classmates, have invested in to see simply succeed. Success is not a monetary value; nor is it a social value. Money, status, fame, all those things will fade the same way that tomorrow- and this picture, will only be a mere memory of yesterday. Today we might still want to be children, but tomorrow we will be held to the higher standards expected of adults.

            And as we leave today, think not only of yourself and the mark you want to make in society, think of the many sacrifices that the people of Galileo have freely given, their time… their insight. Who you are, sitting here today is a result those sacrifices. For those of you who are excited for what is ahead, I encourage you to never give up. Look back only to see why you were excited in the first place. Use the tools and experiences you've gained here to pay it forward and do great things. For those who are scared, I want to remind you, it is okay to cry, it is okay to not know, it is okay to struggle, and most importantly, that it is okay to stop and relax and breathe. We are imperfect human beings, so don’t let that distract you from knowing the greatness that you can achieve. For those sitting here today with regret or dissatisfaction, I want to challenge you, to move forward and take the opportunities outside those doors and make them your own. The world will not wait for us. The future will not wait for us. Time will not wait for us. So go, Class of 2014, go and make something of this world and don’t lose sight of your humble beginnings here at Galileo.

Formulas

In two hours, I will have a white cap on my head and a white gown draped over my body. I will be walking up to the stage and sitting for what might feel like hours but were only moments. I would get up, walk to the podium and speak.

There is something about having a schedule and having your life planned out for you every moment of the day that is comforting. There is something about schedules and having your life planned out for you every moment of the day that is terrifying.

For the past 15 years of my life, everything was planned for me: every course I will take, every seat I will sit in, every school I will go to. All I had to do was play the role of the student. All I had to do was show up to class, sit in the assigned seat, and get myself to school every day on time for 15 years. Everything about a public high school is very formulaic. One plus One equals Two. Show up to class plus Pay attention equals a better chance of getting an A. Studying and Homework equals a good grade on the test. Good grades plus good recommendations equals a chance to go to college. Everything about a public high school education is very formulaic.

For the past 4 years, I learned to appreciate, hate, and adapt to this schedule and formula. I did not have to worry about tomorrow because I know that tomorrow will be the same as yesterday and today. It is a constant cycle and spits out graduates every year. It is a constant cycle that recycles the same methods and teachings. It is a constant cycle that never changes- even when it is not working. It is a constant cycle that is and will always be.

Four years later as I am about to thrown out of this cycle and into the real world, I am more lost then ever before. I do not know what tomorrow will be like. I will not know what tomorrow will bring. I do not know what is going to happen from here on out. I no longer have a schedule to follow. Everything about a public high school education is formulaic yet the one thing they do not teach their students is how to write their own formula...

The Perfect Gift

I want to tell you a story- a story of a little girl.

Once upon a time, there was a man. He was no ordinary man. He was a man with white hair and a long beard. Some called him Santa. Everyday, he would bring gifts to the people of his city and no two gifts were the same. All the gifts, he made by hand. There were no other gifts like his. His gifts were unique to him. They have his signature, his fingerprint, and his own style unlike any other. These gifts showed only a glimpse of how talented and skilled this man is. These delicate gifts showed the creativity and the care this man put into everything part and piece. The gifts are a reflection of the maker himself.

Now these gifts are distributed everyday to every single child in the town. Some of the children were ecstatic and overjoyed to see what new gift they would get to play with today. Others found no interest in these toys. Some children opened the gift and immediately started to toss it around. Others brought the gift back home into the safety of their own rooms and played with it themselves. Some shared their gifts. Others refused to let anyone else touch their toy. Some started to draw and add to the gift, adding what they think the gift still needed, while others would try to imitate and recreate the gift.

This little girl was one of the kids who would try every day to recreate the gift she brought her. She wanted to replicate and through replication acquire the skills and talent of the white hair and beard man. She wanted to be like the craftsman. She wanted to imitate him. So she did... or she tried. No matter how concentrated and determined she was to replicate the gift to its most intricate detail, her version was always missing something. She could not replicate the gifts no matter how hard she tried. Her gifts were only a second version to the original.

When she would finally give up at the end of the day, all she knew how to do was to stare in awe. How complicated and purposefully designed the gift was. Every curve and mark were intentional. Every groove and layer only added more to show how brilliant this man was. The more she stared in awe  of the gift, the more she was in awe of the creator behind the gift. Her attempt and inability to replicate the craft reflects the mastery and perfection this man has poured into every gift that he shares with the children of the town.

The little girl realizes after a while that she will never be able to replicate the man's gift to the very scars and scratches. She is not the man with the white hair and the beard. She cannot be him. She cannot be the creator that the man is, but that is okay. She might never have a complete and perfect replica, but that does not change the fact that the little girl already has perfection in her hand.

Untitled

The title of this post is Untitled.

The title of a book is suppose to be a word or phrase that sums everything up in a nutshell. I literally have been sitting here for the past hour trying to find the perfect word for this way-too-complicated post.

If I could fit these past four years into a book, you would have to wait until I am 80 years old to read the first chapter. Why? Because I would not know where to begin. I would not know how to begin. I would not know how to put such rushed emotions into words. This is what they call writer's block.

Maybe I could start with a list of characters. Main characters, minor characters, the antagonists, the one character is always there just because. But then the question is, who will these people be? How can I say, you are a main character, and you... not so much. How can I distinguish who made the biggest impact on my life. Would it be the main characters who has been by my side at every step of the way? Would it be the minor characters who never make it to center stage but without them, the story would generic and predictable? Would it be the antagonist, the villain, that had the greatest influence of them all? Who am I to say, you were important and you were not. Who am I to decide who enters and leaves my story?

Maybe I could start with the moment that my life changed forever. But isn't that just every moment? Every smile, every laugh, every conversation... ever tear, every heart break, and every struggle, aren't they all moments that have changed my life forever. If I never cried, would I be stronger? If I never had to let go, would I know what it means to be independent. If I never struggled, would I truly know success? If we never fought and got mad for the stupidest things, would we know how to cherish an intimate relationship? There is no one moment that defines a person. A person is ever-changing. It is every moment, every challenged faced, that refines a person every day. I am not the same person as I was yesterday. Today, is a culmination of yesterday. Tomorrow I will be a little more wise, a little more scared, and hopefully a little more prepared.

Maybe I could start at the end. I can tell you where I am now. I can tell you what kind of person I am and who in my life has influenced me to be this way. I can start with today and retell the story backwards. I can tell you the result, then show you the process. I can show you my scars and tell you how I got them and why they will never heal or go away.

Or maybe, I can just wait. My story is not yet finished and I am 18 years too late to start from the very beginning. I cannot tell you where it all began. I do not remember. I cannot tell you who was most important. There are too many. I cannot tell you my ending, because every day that I wake up, is a new beginning, a new story to tell, and a new challenge to face. I cannot tell you what the title will be, because the best stories can't be completely capture in just one word.

-Charlie

Writer's Block

  writ·er

 noun \ˈrī-tər\

    : someone whose work is to write books, poems, stories, etc.

    : someone who has written something

block  noun, often attributive \ˈbläk\

: a solid piece of material (such as rock or wood) that has flat sides and is usually square or rectangular in shape

: an area of land surrounded by four streets in a city

: the length of one city block

: obstacle

After so many sleepless nights, endless writing assignments, and countless times I wanted to share a story, I have officially decided to revamp my blog. 

The point of the blog? To share stories, my stories. To use the only method I know to share a little bit of myself with the rest of the world. 

By no means is this a professional blog, just a person who has a story to tell. By no means will my writing be perfect, just raw emotions and words and whatever spellcheck can fix. By no means is this a safe haven for thoughts, just random spurs of letters with one objective: to tell stories. 

So this is where it begins...