Nascence

What has passed has not been simply an experience, but cynically, it has been a war of attrition. The years that fed into high school – middle school, elementary, daycare centers – all the sights and sounds that have caused me to feel dysfunctional at the slightest mistake or unsettling event have been the hardest to overcome in high school. So that awkward conversation in the hall, a teacher’s reproach, someone’s disdain – or even the leaps to false conclusions really threw my feelings out of whack.

But it’s been fun:

The volatility, the irrationality, and the spontaneity have been great. Can I highlight?

9th Grade: Ambition, and a middle school success high. I made a fool out of myself, and a shame since that’s how that class will remember me. Highlights: Indian dancing, random tests/quizzes, “Comrade” (and speeches too good to not be canned), social suppression, and premature introspection.

10th Grade: New high school – freedom? Dress code, harder classes (APWHIST), and thoughts about epiphanies – not fully developed then and not now either.

11th Grade: English with Seward was the best, people were nice, and recovering from a weird (in the loosest definition of the word) relationship. Pervasive debate culture.

12th Grade: Activities start snapping into place, a hierarchy of motivation and ideals start to emerge, and I gain a lot of good friends. This was how high school should have been in the past – people gifted with charisma take it for granted. And what’s growth without a vanity search (yes, I am the only Steven Maheshwary) with a side order of self-importance?

Hahaha, those highlights started devolving into generalizations. (oh well, I guess it is parallel to my development).

The point of this post is nascence – the event of birth – a chance to finalize my being as steadfastly awesome. And by awesome I mean charismatic, ambitious, and (as this induction into the blogosphere suggests) my-own-mousetrap-builder.

Harvard. Oh yes. The immigrant parent dream, and the dutiful son’s obligation. On April 1st, my mother shed the truest tears of accumulated motherhood – a hope not gone anticlimactic on a son seen to be awry. And my father, in the conflict of judging his son (like I said, there was dysfunctionality, awwww look a nudist soul) said, “good job.”

What can I say? I will smile, accept your congratulations, and will not premeditate a personality. That is my nascence – a reflection, an introspection, and pushing an epiphany from eureka to practice.

Thanks for reading this, and if you guys have anything you want me to talk about, let me know – above all, COMMENT!