Page 139 of Something in Between

royceb: who knew public schools could have such cool speeches?

royceb: just kidding.

jasmindls: Yeah, public schools even have teachers! Imagine that!

I try not to laugh as I put away my phone. The ceremony’s starting, but I don’t pay attention to the opening remarks or anything. I’m still going over my speech, which is different from the one I’d planned to write in November. Very different. Plus, I’m not the only valedictorian up here. I’m sharing the honor with another senior, Amanda Hiller, who’s going to MIT for Robotics. If a bad bout of Valley fever hadn’t made her grades dip her junior year, I probably wouldn’t be standing next to her. After everything that’s happened this year, I’m fortunate to be here. I had almost taken it for granted.

Amanda gives her speech, but I can’t hear a word she’s saying. I keep going over mine in my head, it has to be perfect. It might be my last chance to make a difference in high school.

When Amanda finishes and Principal Lopez begins to introduce me, I feel an irrational desire to jump off the stage and run away. But I square my shoulders and make my way to the podium. After I readjust the microphone I gaze out again. This time I look at the graduates. Hundreds of familiar faces. Not a single graduate is unhappy. Some are obviously bored. Their parents appear far more anxious. They’re the ones who, like my parents, really understand how unpredictable the world can be.

I decide impulsively that I have to address that first. “There is so much uncertainty in the world,” I begin. “We graduates often don’t see this as young people. Especially today. To us, everything is attainable. We can do anything. Our choices don’t matter to us as long as we feel we’re moving forward. But our parents, especially mine, they’re the ones who really understand that there are obstacles on our path. We all must be prepared for sudden change.” I take a breath. People seem to be listening. Even Kayla, who’s sitting in the third row, along with my friends from math group, cheer, even the football players. Now I can begin my actual speech, the one I worked on so hard with Royce these last few bittersweet weeks.

“Dear graduates.” My voice is just above a whisper. I clear my throat and continue a little louder this time. “I want to tell you about hope during these uncertain times of change. Many of you know that not too long ago I found myself in a situation that appeared, especially to me, hopeless. I always thought I was a legal resident of this country, someone on the path to becoming American, but guess what—I wasn’t. My family was here illegally. For a while, I believed that I had lost everything. My future, my country. The barriers seemed insurmountable. Deportation loomed like a leviathan.

“We learned about Thomas Hobbes’sLeviathanin Mr. Maynard’s history class. Thank you, Mr. Maynard. We will miss your many references to the latest teen dystopian movies.”

The students chuckle a little. I feel lighter. I can get through this speech.

“Mr. Maynard, like every other teacher, taught us something about ourselves. For each of us, this is a little different. We’re all unique creatures. Though maybe some of you are more like monsters.”

I pause while the crowd laughs, especially the parents. Somehow, people are listening. My knees have stopped shaking. My voice sounds more confident.

“I promise I won’t give you a history lecture, but I want to quote a few of these bits from history, fromLeviathan, which was written in 1651, more than a hundred years before our own Declaration of Independence. One of the things Hobbes believed in was a Kingdom of Darkness. He didn’t mean Hell though. He was talking about the darkness of ignorance. True knowledge, he thought, was light. Graduates, we must not be ignorant. What you—whatallof us—have to do in the coming years is to seek the light of true knowledge for the good of society.

“In my case, when I found out that I was going to be deported because I wasn’t in America legally, I lost sight of who I was. I thought a piece of paper defined me, that I was a different person, lesser. But throughout this entire year, I’ve learned that who I was never changed. I let what the law said about me—that I, as a human being, was illegal, that I didn’t belong in the place I’d always known as my own home—change my own perception of who I am.

“When I sat down to write this graduation speech, I thought about how these things are supposed to be filled with advice. I thought, ‘Who am I to give my fellow students advice? What will I say?’ And I could come up with only one thing.

“No one—not the law, not a college admissions officer, not your friends, not your teachers or parents or any other people, can define who you are. The only person who can do that is you. Even though you can’t control the things that happen to you, youcancontrol your perspective and your actions. There’s never a moment you can’t choose who you want to be.

“But we have to take that even further. Life isn’t only about figuring out what we need. We need to figure out how to help others too.

“We have to ask ourselves: What can we do to better ourselves and our country? What can we do to be remembered? Who do we want to be?” I ask, echoing Suzanne’s words during our trip to Washington, D.C. “Our Constitution has always been a living, breathing document capturing not just one moment of change in time, but an ongoing transformation taking place even today.

“As for me, I was lucky enough to be granted a stay of deportation and a temporary visa that will allow my family to apply for green cards and the chance to be citizens of this great nation. As a citizen, I’ll fight those individuals and companies who benefit from the backs of the most disenfranchised among us, who profit from deportations, detaining and imprisoning entire families in overcrowded detention centers within our borders, deliberately destroying the American dreams of millions of people every day.

“I urge you to find your passion. Follow the light of true knowledge. Find what inspires you. Find what makes you passionate, what helps you recognize the sense of justice already burning within your heart. Give voice to the voiceless, help to the helpless, be a haven for those who have no recourse, no resources. Keep fighting—for your own sakes, and for the future of our country. Thank you.”

The applause is deafening and the audience is on their feet, but I don’t really see or hear any of it. I’m too busy smiling at my family, at Royce, at Kayla, all my friends and teachers, everyone who has been there for me.

Even though this moment is supposed to be mine, it’s bigger than that, bigger than me. It’s not just about one undocumented immigrant, but for everyone with a dream and a will to succeed. I love my country, and I won’t stop until I count myself among its citizens.

50

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take,

but by the moments that take our breath away.

—MAYA ANGELOU

THANK GOD NOone bought our house. Otherwise where would we have my graduation party? When Dad walks through the front door with some last-minute groceries, Bob Marley Lives has already sound-checked and is starting a set. Dylan is really rocking out. Julian’s vocals are scratchy and swoon-worthy.

“What is this noise?” Dad says.

I laugh. “It’s music!”

“These are your friends? Did they just get out of prison?”

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