By the numbers

Despite my inability to find the antiderivative of a root function, numbers always provided me a sense of stability that high school often lacked. So it seems fitting to organize my final words numerically as figures to recall decades after my Trojan days end.

2: years of tripping over myself at Walk It Out. After living in a cultural gray-area for too long, I finally embraced my Indian heritage. Now I’ve constantly had a Party On My Mind and am ready to Swag (Se Swagat) into college as a true Desi Girl.

4: times I sobbed in a teacher’s classroom because life was difficult. Travis Henderson, I’m lucky to have a wonderful soul like you in my life. To students going through rough times, teachers care more than you think, so please reach out if you start to slip.

8: engineering-related competitions I attended despite detesting math and science. Through these, I acknowledged two vital concepts: you don’t need to pursue STEM to succeed, and it’s okay to quit activities you’re no longer passionate about.

99: pieces played with the West bands. Rob and Rich, thanks for letting me flop my arms around on the football field and believing in my ability to blow air through a metal stick. I’ll miss the “Rob Medd’s age” jokes, the endless Souza marches and *maybe* the Speedsters.

48,929: words I’ve written for West Side Story. Covering meaningful issues shaped my future endeavors, and I hope my stories impacted you as well. Here’s to the injustices I’ll expose going forward.

Too many: life lessons acquired. Along with elitism, self-doubt and bitterness came incredible people, hysterical laughter and unforgettable moments. West wasn’t always excellent, but I’ll treasure the memories and education obtained as I forsake my winter coat for warm Atlanta air.

Here’s to the next four.