On Solastalgia, Graduating, and CGPS

At the end of my senior year of high school, my dean emailed me to ask to meet with me before school started. I was nervous because I never got in trouble, and the only times I went to his office were during mandatory semester check-ins. I showed up at 8 am instead of 8:20. He told me the faculty members had selected me to give a speech at our graduation. Here’s the speech I gave: 

I think, for most, reflecting on Senior year can be described as bittersweet. But I struggle with this idea, I almost think bittersweet is too mild an adjective, it’s not all-encompassing enough. I think there is something so uniquely human about this situation that one word is insufficient.

In writing this speech, I was reminded of a word I learned about in one of my readings for history Seminar: solastalgia. While this word is often used in the context of climate change to describe a homesickness for an environment that once was, I find it fits snugly between my memories of CGPS and my sentiments about leaving it behind. 

In my last semester here, I took an English elective that dissected the intricacies of memory. We read and analyzed numerous stories about people’s perceptions of memory, stories of their childhoods, and the loss of memory altogether. In our daily exploration of remembrance, I was led to think about my past and imagine my future: when I look back on this time in my life, what would I think? What would I remember? 

I know it won’t be the math I struggled to learn or the homework I’d forgotten to do: it will be the small pockets of kindness I was shown. 

I hope I remember when I got oil paint all over my nice sweater, and Ms. C spent her free period scrubbing it out, knowing I had to speak at an open house and didn’t want to be dotted with pinks and greens. 

I hope I remember how Mr. G attended every MECA meeting he could to show his support, and how he’d thank us each individually after. 

From swapping last-minute notes to making each other laugh after a tough quiz, I hope I remember the quiet ways my classmates and I looked out for each other. 

I hope I remember being greeted by name, waved at enthusiastically, and known to the point where, when I’d lost my MetroCard and forgotten to email about a new one, Ms. R found me in the lounge, green OMNY card in hand.

In exploring these small, vivid moments, I realize I may not need the perfect word after all. Perhaps what’s needed is breathing in this moment, looking to our peers, to our parents, our teachers, and being here together.

Breath or no breath, I do not think I’ve found what I am looking for. Maybe this was just a long, winding attempt to explain what bittersweet and solastalgia really mean, and maybe there's no prolific word that describes growing together and leaving each other.

While I sit, thinking of my once paint-covered sweater or those club meetings with familiar faces, I am certain these kindnesses are unique to Columbia Prep, but not to me. I urge my classmates—and everyone—to take a moment, think back, find a pocket of kindness, cherish it, and take it with us wherever we go. I urge you to feel everything to the fullest, to mourn what once was, and to look forward to what will be. I trust that, one day—in our own ways—we will all find what I am looking for, what we’re all looking for: something that encapsulates our time together completely and carries the full weight of what we’ve shared.