I'd Like to Thank the Academy

I can hardly start a list of thank yous without mentioning my mother, who told me when I was six years old that "any household without the complete works of Shakespeare is no household at all". I'd like to now amend that statement -- any household without three complete box sets of Harry Potter (because *someone (looking at you, sister)* refused to share with me because "I crack the spine") is no household at all. And of course, to my father, who let me buy books off of Amazon whenever I was bored, much to my mother's dismay. They taught me that letting your child do things against the wishes of your spouse is exactly what makes a good relationship. Yeah. That's a good lesson to learn, I think.

Then, I have to thank Vidhi and Angie for teaching me all about diction. I can assure you, the word "onus" would never have appeared in my writing if not for them (and shoutout to Ruthesh for actually writing a blog post about it???!!! A high honor.). And Eva, for being the greatest turn-and-talk buddy ever. And Hay, from first semester, for zoning out 65% of the time and still saying the smartest things. I don't know for sure, but I think she's made of magic. 

And to Parnika, for giving me panicked looks every time I walked into class and trying to mouth words to me while wearing a mask. It's one of my biggest personal accomplishments that I mostly understood her. And for texting me her essay scores while I was in math and saying "I really think it was graded wrong" when really, she's just brilliant. 

And to the group I walked from 1st to 2nd hour with, for listening to all my annoying rants about nothing in particular. I'm sorry (not really) and y'all are real ones. 

Next, to my Spotify "tunnel songs to feel infinite" playlist, without which a solid 98% of my writing would never have been finished on time. Actually, this credit must be split with Ms. Brewer*, who gave us so many quizzes to study for I had no choice but to be productive and time efficient. It didn't always work, but, you know, that's not her fault.

To David Foster Wallace, who will never read or see this but had one of the most profound impacts on my world view yet. Consider the Lobster is undoubtedly, one of the smartest works I've ever read, and a characterization of exactly the kind of writer I aspire to be -- someone who makes the small things grand and weighty, and the large things simple and easily digestible. As the resident, in-house vegetarian, his words hit me viscerally, striking my insides with disgust, terror, and admiration at the same time. Not to mention, he taught me everything I know about footnotes**.

To Cathy Park Hong, the writer that made the otherwise somewhat overdone topic of Asian American representation a novel, shiny thesis, littered with chilling stories of candy and war. She taught me that works are, on occasion, exhausting to read because they're supposed to be. And, that when something bothers me, that's because it should. She taught me what it means for words to scare on purpose. I am truly indebted to her (Yes, pun intended. Please laugh.).

To F. Scott Fitzgerald, the inspiration for my first few blog posts (ah the nostalgia), who showered me with so many rhetorical devices I'm practically a walking, talking literary dictionary. And to Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, for writing about the nuances of racism in ways I had never considered before. Her words sparkled with the truth they held, and I'm sure her work will only mean more to me as time goes on.

To my sister, my prototype (because obviously I'm the better/newer/just overall much more amazing version)***, who told me to "stop worrying and watch Selling Sunset -- Christine is acting like a psychopath, you'll forget about all your stupid problems" when I failed an essay and Economics test on the same day. She's truly inspirational. 

Oh, and to Mr. Kisse, for buying us donuts not once, but twice, and teaching us to list sources in our synthesis thesis. The former cancels out the latter, but just barely. Wait; he also made us take vocab quizzes without the word bank. That was traumatizing. I'd like to redact my thanks now. And to Ms. Valentino, mostly for putting up with Aatreya and teaching us at the same time. We don't really know how you do it. 

I remember my first in class essay vividly. I didn't even think to mention tone, used the first three rhetorical devices that popped into my head (which, knowing me, were probably along the lines of "alliteration"), and I'm pretty sure I wasn't speaking English for most of it. It's kind of hilarious, looking back, how scared I was to be writing an in class essay every week. I partially blame the seniors I know, who whispered about their days in 11AP like it's some kind of urban legend... I turned into a monster, with my dark circles and disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes and perpetual snarl; people were scared to talk to me. But jokes aside, having every Monday and Friday be ICE days was kind of cathartic. I loved rushing to Econ to ask Ray what he wrote about, tearing pages out of my math notebook because I always forgot to bring loose leaf paper (you would think after four months, I'd learn), and crossing out giant chunks of my paragraphs because I decided I hated them****.

At this point, I know what you're thinking: this is the longest acknowledgements ever. And well, yes, because I've been writing this for the past two hours while I'm stranded at the airport waiting for our flight delay to become an un-delay. So I would like to conclude this mile long blogpost by thanking the flight attendant who said "I'm not going to tell you the time because nobody needs that kind of negative energy at 3:29 am" and the little girl who has been doing cartwheels around all the chairs for two hours. Where do kids get this kind of energy? I feel like I'm watching a slice of humanity right now; there's a group of sisters in matching T-shirts and a college student watching Netflix on her phone and this baby girl who started crying (inconsolably, might I add) when her mother ate M&Ms and this old couple in cowboy boots and quilted cloaks and we're all making sardonic jokes about how terrible Spirit Airlines is and honestly, if I ever used all my newfound 11AP writing knowledge to publish a memoir, this might just be the first chapter. 

And isn't that the kind of positive energy we need at 3:29am?

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* Who also told me once that I needed to stop using Oxford Commas. That advice was helpful, meaningful, and influential. I've definitely learned since.

** Literally everything. And now I use them so often I annoy people, which is a tad concerning and a problem for another day.

*** Divya, that's a joke. Please don't take away my remote rights.

**** I kid you not, a solid 3/4 of my essay was always scribbled out.*****

*****Actually, I would also like to add that 11AP has made me so critical of my own writing. I've always been the type of person to write a first draft and then find myself unable to improve it, but now I look at paragraphs I wrote even just two weeks ago and physically cringe at all the problems I can find in it.