Two nights ago, I watched Shawn Mendes's newly-released music video for "Youth," a song written to address feelings of hopelessness in the wake of all these tragedies that constantly plague our headlines.
Yesterday morning, I woke up to news of yet another mass shooting.
Perhaps I was still half-asleep, perhaps I was in shock. But for some reason, I had almost no reaction. And the rest of my day proceeded just like normal.
But it isn't normal. It shouldn't be normal. As young people with bright futures, we shouldn't accept this as the status quo; we should be instigating change.
In "Youth," Mendes preaches the value of our adolescence: how it can never be taken away from us and of the power it lends us in shaping the future. His music video features various young people with unique skills, including a student conducting cancer research, an environmental activist, a policy debater, and a survivor of gun violence, all of whom are positively contributing to society. Likewise, each of us has some unique ability that we should use to change the world.
Gandhi famously said "Be the change that you wish to see in the world," but is that really enough? Even if a mere 1% of the 1% commit terrible acts, each of them has the capacity to do heart-wrenching damage, as proven at Thousand Oaks, Sandy Hooks, and Columbine. Conversely, I may dedicate my life to service, but nothing can bring back the lives lost at the hands of the reckless few. A lifetime of "rights" cannot negate a single "wrong."
Then again, I can't help but feel a spark of hope when I think about the strides we've made over the years. 100 years ago, women didn't have the right to vote. 50 years ago, we lived in constant fear of nuclear annihilation. But just this week, the first two Muslim women were elected to Congress and a record-breaking 100+ women are poised to serve in the House of Representatives.
It's easy to get caught up in the tragedy of it all, and it's frustrating to not have any answers. I don't want to end this with some sappy "It all gets better in the end" BS, because, frankly, I don't think that's true. But if history is any indication, I at least know that change is a constant, and hopefully I can help things change for the better.
I stare at the mirror, realizing the romper I purchased online fits like a garbage bag on a traffic cone. Unwilling to give up, I pull out a sketchbook and get to work, reimagining how to reuse the cloth.
Dozens of sketches later, the familiar hum of the sewing machine fills my ears as it comes to life. The sewing machine's hungry teeth slowly chew through the rose-printed, chiffon fabric, pausing every few seconds as I rearrange the pins and adjust the fabric. Hours of all-consuming work later, I suddenly realize that I forgot a seam allowance.
My mind races through the options: Start over? Give up? Pray I'll shrink overnight? Finally, I remember resolving a similar problem as a competitive dancer, when I applied clear nail polish on frayed ballet tights to control the raw edges. With this idea, I carefully paint over every spot.
Now, the romper fits perfectly, but the nail polish has dried into a crust, scraping against my skin like shards of glass.
From the corner of my eye, a hot pink nail file catches my attention. Nail files beat nail polish in this augmented game of Rock-Paper-Scissors, so I get to work yet again. Another half hour of meticulous filing later, I no longer wince when I put it on.
Sure, I could have just purchased a new romper to replace all this effort. But the lessons learned from firsthand struggle cannot be bought at Forever 21. Although my homemade romper is far from perfect, it is a product of my efforts and perfectly highlights the importance of problem solving, creativity, and perseverance in a world that never quite goes as expected.
I first learned about the SAT in the summer after 4th grade as I watched my brother cram overflowing stacks of vocabulary cards. Six years later, I had been conditioned to understand the impact of a single score. Subsequently, I slaved away all summer in pursuit of that unattainable perfect score, cursing my own inadequacies when falling short.
This sense of inadequacy wasn't just a product of the SAT. A notoriously rigorous public school, comparing scores or whispering about so-and-so's GPA are as central to Mission as prom. Numbers seemed to dictate rankings and intelligence, so naturally, I became fixated on them.
Until junior year, I always considered this competitive culture a double-edged sword: suffocating, but also motivating. One particularly stressful night, I still couldn't process a paragraph after the third time reading it, and I was hit with the terrifying realization that my brain didn't work. I knew this fear was silly and irrational, but I couldn't help but wonder if, in my focus on getting good grades, I never actually learned how to learn. My academic prowess, previously an integral part of my identity, was now in question, and I felt lost.
Determined to get back on track, I scoured the internet for a miracle cure. Instead, I found studying methods that work for me, like hand-drawing diagrams and relating dry facts to stories.
I also took the time to look into random interests—a refreshing break from the stressful, grade-based learning of school. Reading Wikipedia pages about obscure French pastries or controversial religious cults brought back the joy of learning something new.
In an environment that greatly weighs grades over learning, I've often lost my way in the true purpose of the pursuit of knowledge. The panic I experienced after basing my self-worth on test scores was a sharp reminder of how easily these flawed, results-focused paradigms can fall apart and detract from what really matters.
With a renewed appreciation for the learning process, I am excited to not only continue my search for knowledge throughout my life, but also find joy and fulfillment in my journey.