Here's My Wish

By Gabrielle Guz

(Written in January 2019. My freshman year of college. Dedicated to my high school teachers.)

Lately, one question hovers and doesn’t quite settle. All at once, it begins, maintains, and concludes a cordial-turned-unbearable exchange - a question that is an interlocutor on its own, speaking only to itself, not really expecting an answer: “So, how are you liking college?” (An internal monologue commences: How am I liking college? My, what’s the best response? I guess it’s going well, as planned. As planned, now really?) What follows may usually sound akin to a mutter under the breath, a breaking of eye contact, a hand-in-pocket type of pose, a fidgeting about that in itself reveals the uncertainties and fears, the unspeakable longings for what once was, what might be, and what will - surely - be, all the best. Not yet then, not now then. When, then, if ever? Maybe one day - yes, one day - one semester from now, or two, it will be easier to respond in full confidence, thus: “College is certainly what people told me it would be: the grandest time of my life. I could not have asked for a better experience. I love it and, you know what, I have finally adjusted.”

Adjusted. How humiliating a term. Oh, the anxieties it brings.

If someone would only please explain what it means to adjust, and why it is more often than not phrased with the present-perfect, or past-perfect, or past tense, as though it is a mark everyone is expected to reach, as though it is the only hurdle that, once overcome, all immediately and perfectly falls into place. Is it too much of a cliche to iterate that everyone’s different? What’s the point to tell of an adjustment? Is it a truth for many? Or is it to impress, to fit in? But if it is for the sake of a good impression, what is the point of lying to yourself? Isn’t the general advice to learn how to be true to yourself and, in turn, gravitate towards those who listen without judgement to your truth?

Adjusted. Is it a vague shrug-off, or is it indeed veracious, established on the assumption that not a word more is needed to describe how very exhilarating it is to finally “get used to it”? For me, that expression does not do it, because although it is only “natural” to adjust to new intellectual and social environments, some cannot bring this adjustment to actualization.

I think it’s perfectly normal, isn’t it so?

Because, as do I, some carry a story within them that cannot continue in a fulfilling fashion in the folds of a somewhat incomprehensible adjustment, and it cannot afford to lose touch with its former chapters only to “expect” a smooth transition to the one in the making. Its first chapters are what give it a beautifully incomparable, inspiring binding that hold its new words on its new chapter’s pages. How can the present chapter thrive with an adjustment of sorts if its words are poignantly raw in gratitude and acceptance of what once was, in anticipation and hope for what might be - much rather, will be - on the basis of chapters past?

I’m afraid I might never fully grasp how an adjustment feels, and frankly, I don’t - and won’t - regret it; perhaps, it is because I have experienced much tragic loss in my nearly 19 years to understand how incredibly fragile so-called invisible threads can be, and how immensely saving they are. These threads have nurtured within me a fulfillment so ineffably empowering that on every thought of their support, I take the most ambitious steps forward and revel in my accomplishments.

These invisible threads of empowerment. Such are my New Utrecht High School teachers, counselors, administrators, my high school family. Nothing can precisely describe how much they mean to me, and to my journey as a survivor.

My teachers, counselors, administrators, my high school family, I liken them to the Invisible Thread that Laura Schroff and Alex Tresniowski so vividly write of in their non-fictional book. There, too, the story is of a destined bond that serves to uplift a downcast soul, until it is able to give back with as much love and care to the one who raised it to unimaginable heights. In this narrative, I found a resonance, and hence have been ever indebted to these guiding, invisible threads.

My teachers, counselors, administrators, my high school family.

What I’ve learned from their presence in my life is not the urgency of adjusting to the predictable or unpredictable turns of Fate, however wonderful or seemingly unendurable they may be; rather, if I’ve learned anything, it is that a certain inspiring greatness basks in personal growth that requires no adjustment, but a perseverance that propels the broken-yet-strong spirit to leap further into greatness.

. . .

I remember well how increasingly difficult it was, almost three years ago, to re-discover a purpose in my life after losing my mom to a three-year battle with a rare cancer, only to find myself trying to alleviate the internal demons my dad soon thereafter began to fight, deep in his clinical depression - a battle that he, unfortunately, lost. It wasn’t as though I myself didn’t fight against my own demons, all the time. For a while, I was quiet about the panic that engulfed me, as all of my fears for myself and for my brother and for his, my, our future clashed in an uncontrollable momentum, over and over again. All the time.

Nothing is impossible, truly nothing. But to adjust to such grave circumstances is impossible, though it never means that you should stop moving forward. Especially when so many people open their hearts for you, care for you and cheer you on. That alone gives you so much purpose, and all of a sudden, it is right there in front of you - your purpose re-discovered.

However, then, returning to high school just two weeks after my dad’s passing, I thought foolishly that I somehow had to adjust to life’s circumstances, although I quite promptly realized I didn’t need to. I just needed to grow a little bit, one moment at a time, not completely letting go of the memories, painfully exquisite, that I shared with mom and dad. My teachers, counselors, administrators believed in my survivor of a spirit so much that I began to believe in it, too.

When I wrote an utterly raw personal essay about how I felt at that time, I described myself as “a knot of nerve”, “an insomnia-stricken wreck”, “a tormented soul fighting its demons.” And yet, I also posed rhetorical questions, in commendation of my newfound strength: “Yet, who was I? Why, who was I to rise every morning, to freshen up my fatigued countenance, to force upon a smile? To abstain from disgraceful pity? To believe? To persevere?”

Indeed, one of the most fascinating phenomenon that someone can experience is the internal stirring of inspiring personal growth. At one moment, you’re helpless, looking to adjust to the good and the bad, and then you’re an inspiration. Because you’ve been inspired, too.

One month before I graduated from New Utrecht, I wrote in the school newspaper that I am of a belief that behind every young person of remarkable willpower are teachers who inspire a willingness to triumph. I will stand firmly to that belief until my last breath.

They held my hand at my very worst, rejoiced with me at my very best. My teachers, counselors, administrators. Though they still insist that I did it all on my own. Maybe there is a truth to that, small one albeit, and it’s that I didn’t learn to adjust; instead, I accepted their unwavering support and grew into all that I am today and all that I have yet to become. Because they were there for me, always.

. . .

So, how are you liking college? How are you adjusting? I’d say that I don’t believe in adjustment, I believe in personal growth. I’d say that I’m no different from the millions of college students around the world. I expect something awesome from my college experience, I expect to make new friends, glimpse into varying perspectives, discover yet undiscovered parts of myself, like new passions, new desires and new interests, find new forms of contentment, more than anything. And yes, I’m sure everything will fall into place wonderfully, but that will all be regardless of whether or not I adjust to college.

To adjust, no. That implies a certain languishing, no extraordinary fruition at life’s every chapter. Instead, I’ll grow and relish in my personal growth, just like I did before, staggering from the ashes of my adversity and flourishing into a survivor. Only difference now is that I already am a survivor, flourishing into someone stronger, wiser, more accepting of what has passed, what might have been, what is, and what is yet to come. As I grow, I’ll never forget my teachers, counselors, administrators who made me feel so powerful when I thought myself powerless, so blessed when I thought blessings I had few. They are my unforgettable, forever blessings.

So, here’s to them. I thank them and love them. They told me, many a time, that I can do anything I endeavor, and I will. One step at a time, I will continue making them, and myself, proud. That’s my wish, and it’ll come to fruition.