one for the books (acknowledgments)

I do not consider myself to be a remarkably sentimental person, however saying that I wouldn’t have survived even a week in this class without the support of everyone would be an immense understatement. I was completely and immediately prepared to collapse into a pile of mush when I realized much of class wouldn’t be focused on just writing, but rather be discussion-based. But no matter, I persevered, and not without the support of everyone.

To begin, I would like to thank Vandya for putting up with my half-articulated ideas during partner writes and developing them into complete sentences. It seemed there is so much I wanted to say, yet I had no way of actually writing them down in a way that was coherent and intelligent. Why settle for my “Kingston’s lack of confidence kept her from enacting change” when Vandya’s “Kingston’s lack of confidence and support from her own community undermined her ability to create a widespread impact” sounds so polished in comparison? Whether it was joining at the fingertips when picking partners or simply just turning and talking, I knew Vandya was always someone I could rely on when I needed help most.

To “Our Barbies, Ourselves” for showing me that I don’t need to like every piece we read in class. Even though I knew it was a satirical criticism of consumerism and unrealistic standards, it almost read as genuine. And that angered me (because who at the age of 7 is concerned how dolls would attempt to procreate with a lack of genitalia). Though we were given the opportunity to do anything else that day thanks to the coin stall, we still decided to get a head start on our homework, and we all collectively agreed the the piece was truly something.

On the same note, a thank you to both Sukruta and Jessica for also holding the same opinions on “Our Barbies, Ourselves” as I did. When reading the piece, it seemed our jaws collectively went slack out of shock. They each opened new doorways to interpretations that I would have never considered before, and for that, I am truly grateful.

To “This is Water” for showing we are never truly in the world alone. You can be frustrated in your own right, but so is everyone else. We all want to go home and sleep. Don’t take it out on all the other people stuck in the same traffic as you or the poor cashier just trying to get through the day, counting the seconds until they can finally clock out. Not only that but David Foster Wallace’s play with sentence structure and length to convey real emotions.

To Gayatri for always being willing to discuss with me any time we were (forcibly) encouraged to talk to people from other tables.

To Sarah for always saying “You cooked” each time I wrote something uncharacteristically smart. Likely one of my biggest cheerleaders, she was always one who I could share my opinions that might be a little controversial and maybe a little mean with.

To Aly for always surprising me every time she opens her mouth. She makes me question what stretches too far, and somehow manages to make those far-fetched ideas in terms of analysis actually make sense.

To “The F Word” for helping me come to terms with my cultural disconnect in a humorous and sarcastic way. I don’t think I would have been able to consider writing a line like, “After being absolutely being tormented by the questionable ways people attempt to say my name, I've learned to respond to anything that vaguely resembles it,” had it not been for Dumas.

This list would not be complete if I did not include Katharina and Shayuri. Despite not being in the same hour, the two of them certainly made AP Lang much more interesting. If it was talking about the last essay we wrote or laughing about the out-of-pocket things we heard people say during our respective hour, I realized how much they shaped my 11AP experience. I definitely have a lot to say about the two of them individually, but I don’t think it would be entirely fair to separate the two. When on the bus to see Clyde’s, we could have been on the more comfortable bus with individual seats, but we chose to sit in the school bus so we could squish and sit together because we are a packaged deal; three peas in a pod if you will. Walking out of the play, I was hit with a wave of sentimentality; I never thought I would consider the fact that I might actually miss an AP class. I was sad not just because the play was over, but it felt like the journey was also coming to an end.

 

And last, but certainly not least, to the one and only Valentino herself. I, for one, always dreaded English classes. Maybe it came from years of being told my writing wasn’t good with no guidance to help me do better. Maybe it came from fear that my ideas weren’t correct. Or maybe it came from being conditioned to conform to the structured templates of essay writing with no encouragement to be creative. Either way, this year, I would like to think I’ve shown some growth.

 
Prior to AP Lang, I would have been something akin to a caged bird. I was afraid. Afraid to write something controversial, afraid to break from the formulaic essays. I think the most obvious example is the two times I wrote about the double homicide in the Chinese mall. The first time I wrote about it, I merely said the footage “[showed] a security guard and other bystanders simply walking around [the crime scene] and did not stop to help the two women.” Trying again last week, I wrote, “The whole [homicide] feels surreal because despite a brutal murder taking place, no bystanders stepped in to help. Nobody even ran. It was like they didn't even witness two girls get brutally stabbed to death with the way they walked on and carried on with their day… Not even the security officers on duty did anything. You can see them on camera and all they do is stand. One even looks away.” I think my writing can actually make people feel something now. I no longer write like a textbook and can make readers care. Make people like yourself actually pay attention to the issues that matter to me.

All these people and works held the key. I have finally been liberated from my prison.