Students Share Inspiration and Gratitude at
2025 Graduation Ceremonies

I’ve spent the past few weeks trying to think of the most perfect, witty opening line for this speech to really hook the audience and rival Mick Gee’s British charm … and after many scrapped drafts and useless ideas, this is what I’ve come up with: Good morning!

Family, friends, faculty, and most importantly, the class of 2025.

My name is Gemma Ciriello, and I am honored to speak on behalf of my class today as this year’s student body president.

This school year started with me, very nervously, on this exact stage, discussing the theme of Joy. So when I sat down to write this Commencement speech (way later than I should probably admit) for the most important public speaking event of my life, I decided to revisit the Convocation speech I gave last August.

At the time, I spoke about joy as I felt it was represented at Rowland Hall and I urged every student to try to find joy in their own lives throughout the school year. Whether it was acing tests, cheering our athletic teams on to victory, or seeing others connecting in positive ways, I witnessed you all experience joy in so many ways this year.

Personally, I found joy when I got accepted into one of my dream colleges at San Diego, and when we finally managed to choreograph an actual Senior Lip Sync after suffering through three years of just lame Fortnite dances.

As a Lifer, I feel like I need to start with a brief history of my time at Rowland Hall: Thirteen years ago, I walked into the Beginning School for the first time wearing a plaid jumper and Velcro shoes, weighed down by a backpack twice my size.

While I can’t tell you what I learned that first day, I do remember feeling completely overwhelmed, I was initially intimidated by my classmates, until we bonded over building blocks and our mutual disdain for nap time, and soon we were having competitions reciting the alphabet.

By third grade, my competitive streak was still going strong—especially during Rocket Math times tables races, where I was always gunning for the fastest time but of course never came close to A’s and Aiden’s.

And although I was once the reigning school spelling bee champion, the fifth-grade state bee brought me crashing back down to earth with one word: schadenfreude. Just like that, I was out, retiring early from my short-lived, competitive spelling career.

Later in high school, I found myself in awe of everyone else’s time management skills, while I had developed the unfortunate habit of procrastination, but also my parents were probably right, “that damn phone” didn’t help either.

That said, I am not just here to speak about how I found joy or my Rowland Hall experience, but rather to share with you the joy I find in seeing my peers thrive. I’m standing here today, representing a class that I truly admire. After everything—all the setbacks (quarantine), growth, and quiet wins—I can’t think of anything more fitting to say about this class than: I’m proud.

Every day I’m impressed by seeing what newfound accomplishment my classmates are making. Whether it's writing pieces published in scientific journals and the Salt Lake Tribune, dominating Waterford in sports, winning competitions across debate and robotics, or just working well together on class projects, I continue to be amazed by what we as a class have accomplished.

Over the past few months, my favorite hobby was stalking the RH Decisions Instagram page to see where this senior class would be spending the next chapter of their lives. Not just the places they are going—as that is impressive on its own—but also what they will be doing, perfectly embodying the school motto of “Developing People the World Needs.”

And I am so excited to see what this incredible group of individuals do next.

Whether it’s in athletics: Carolina running for Grinell and Karsten heading for the US Ski Team and Dartmouth.

In the arts, with Sophie’s amazing voice, Anna’s piano talents, and Ruby’s beautiful paintings.

Or as varied academically with Sylvia pursuing marine biology and Kendall studying fashion design at Cornell, I could not be more excited for this class to go out and change the world.

As we sit here today, at the pinnacle of all we’ve worked for and on the cusp of everything still to come, I find myself reflecting on how much we’ve grown—not just as students, but as people. I’ve watched Will effortlessly juggle music, athletics, and academics as one of the most well-rounded people I know. I’ve seen Lulu transform into a hardworking leader and the most loyal friend I could ever ask for. This entire class has truly grown up together. We’ve supported each other through moments of joy and disappointment, ambition and doubt, and through it all, we’ve come out stronger.

What I carry with me most is not just admiration for your accomplishments, but respect for your resilience—your ability to keep going, to keep caring, and to keep showing up as yourselves in a world that often asks us to be someone else. And that’s not something that should end after this graduation ceremony.

So as we all move forward, in different directions and toward different futures, I hope we remember that what we built here matters. And it will keep mattering, long after today as our legacies continue to grow.

Thank you, and congratulations to the class of 2025.

Thank you, parents, family members, and distinguished guests, for being here today. Graduates, congratulations. I am incredibly honored and grateful to accept the Bishops’ Award and speak in front of you all this morning. Today is a milestone for us. Eighteen years ago, we were crying, taking spontaneous naps, and frantically waving our fists around. Now, we do the same, but with a high school diploma in hand.

We’ve all grown tremendously in our time here at Rowland Hall. As I reflect on our class’s high school years, the kaleidoscope of memories and experiences coalesces into a sort of movie for me—a film through which I see images from our journey flash by. I once heard a director say that every great movie is produced through a combination of three central tenets: artistic direction, collaboration, and something unique that people have never seen before. In that vein, I wanted to speak about how our high school years encompass those same three components as if it were a film itself.

First, artistic direction. The best cinematographers have a specific vision for their movie that manifests itself in deliberate artistic choices. If our high school experience were a movie, the faculty and staff at Rowland Hall would be the directors. From Mr. Wilson launching pigeons out of the back field to using fly swatters in Sr. Burnett’s class to learn vocab, our teachers have taught us in incredible ways that directed us as writers, scientists, mathematicians, historians, and more. In accordance with Rowland Hall’s value of thinking deeply, they’ve shown us how to approach problems from a myriad of perspectives that cultivate ideological flexibility. But directors shouldn’t just guide the audience—in the words of iconic filmmaker Alfred Hitchcock, they should “make the audience suffer.” And, just like the best of directors, our teachers did indeed make us suffer (often with a smile on their faces). Homework, quizzes, tests, essays, reading, projects, presentations, notes, annotations, discussions, and much more have swamped us over the last four years. The ad project alone probably took two years off of my life. And just when I thought I was out each summer, they pulled me back in with summer homework. But, as Sergeant Barnes tells us in Platoon, we must “[t]ake the pain. Take it!” Handling the stress and hard work our teachers gave us has ensured we not only learned concepts but understood how to apply them to form sophisticated ideas. The pit in our stomach we get when Dr. Hickman assigns an impromptu or Ms. Croft announces a calc test is a testament to the desire to succeed that our teachers have instilled in us. So, thank you to the faculty and staff who have molded us from rowdy middle schoolers to semi-professional high schoolers.

The second aspect of a great film is collaboration. Directors, writers, producers, actors, and others must all converge seamlessly to create a truly great movie. Rowland Hall’s emphasis on welcoming everyone and cultivating lasting relationships facilitates this collaboration across students, faculty, and staff. In the classroom, people like Ainsley Moore, Thea DeBellis, and Rachel Brague have worked with professors at Utah Valley University to make biofertilizer out of algae as part of the Advanced Research Chemistry class. In our extracurriculars, collaboration has manifested itself in a litany of achievements—members of this class have helped Rowland Hall win two girls state soccer titles, two boys state soccer titles, two boys region basketball titles, two girls state tennis titles, two boys state tennis titles, two boys state golf titles, and two robotics Inspire awards, as well as three state debate championships. Our class’s various successes demonstrate what we are capable of when we work together. It epitomizes actor James McAvoy’s remark that “filmmaking is a miracle of collaboration.”

The last ingredient in any great movie is uniqueness. Some of the most iconic films—Django, Jurassic Park, Goodfellas, and Back to the Future—redefined cinema through new visual effects, storytelling, and artistry. Though we aren’t fighting dinosaurs or time traveling, our class is particularly unique. In my 13 years here at Rowland Hall, I’ve seen my classmates crush sugarcane in Costa Rica, teach elementary classes in the Navajo Nation, and even witnessed someone jump out the window of my eighth-grade English classroom. I can also guarantee that no future class will ever do their freshman lip sync like we did, with Andrew Murphy and Eli Hatton improvising their performance to Michael Jackson’s “Smooth Criminal” with nothing but Fortnite dances. But on a more serious note, this class has truly made Rowland Hall history; Luc Dowdle is one of the first Rowland Hall basketball players to score 1,000 points in their career, Eli is the only Rowland Hall student to attend three International Science and Engineering Fairs, and Karsten Schillinger made history as one of the best slalom skiers in the world. Frances Hodson and other members of the inaugural Advanced Research Computer Science course also made Rowland Hall history by designing drones for engineering, improving computer circuits, and more. As a whole, our class has been the juggernaut for the school’s transition in science curriculum and unwilling guinea pigs for the school’s experiments with A days and special schedules. Yes, every graduating class is unique in its own way, but what makes our film different is that we have truly been pioneers, setting the standard for those to come.

Now, as our high school journey comes to an end, I couldn’t imagine a better group of people to spend the last four years of my childhood with. I encourage you all to keep in mind the components of a great film: direct yourself deliberately, learn and collaborate with others, and don’t be afraid to be different. Famous director Orson Welles said, “If you want a happy ending, that depends … on where you stop your story.” Through the ups and downs, plot twists, and red herrings, Welles invests agency in us to control our story, our lives, and our legacy. Everybody knows that Forrest Gump said, “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.” But what he doesn’t say—and what I think is most important—is not what chocolate we get, but what we do once we have it. With that in mind, I’ll leave us with the words of John Keating from the movie Dead Poets Society: “Carpe diem. Seize the day…Make your lives extraordinary.” 

Good evening, everyone. It is such an honor to get to speak to you tonight. 

Lately, I have been thinking about whether I am truly ready to graduate. Is four short years of high school really long enough to take a kid and give them the skills necessary to contribute productively to society?

Rowland Hall has given us an extraordinary education. The propaganda and ad projects taught us valuable research skills. Challenging AP classes pushed us to think and reason in new ways. Beyond the Classroom, Interim, and similar activities showed us that learning is not just for classrooms. The list goes on. Even non-AP classes pushed us to learn and stretch ourselves in new ways.

I do not think there is any doubt about our having learned enough, but learning has no value when one does not use it. Steve Jobs once said, “The only way to do great work is to love what you do.” That is what I want to talk about this evening: the importance of caring.

George Washington is an amazing example of someone who truly cared, in his case, about the 13 colonies and, eventually, the United States of America. One of my favorite demonstrations of this care occurred during the Newburgh Conspiracy, in 1783. The Continental Army was in Newburg, New York, waiting for news about the peace negotiations ending the war, and many of the soldiers began to get dissatisfied. Because the overly limited Articles of Confederation government was not able to levy taxes, the soldiers were not getting paid and threatened to either disband, leaving the colonies unprotected, or to execute a military takeover. On March 15, the officers of the Continental Army were meeting to discuss these options when Washington showed up unexpectedly and asked for the opportunity to say a few words. After expressing his disapproval of the drastic measures being considered, he produced a letter from a member of Continental Congress to read to them. Pulling out a pair of spectacles he said, “Gentlemen, you must pardon me. I have grown gray in your service and now find myself growing blind.” Washington's immense care for his cause and his country inspired the officers so much that they decided to trust Congress and not take matters into their own hands.

Another example of someone who never gave up because he cared is Thomas Edison. When he was inventing the incandescent light bulb, he is popularly quoted as saying, “I didn't fail. I just found 10,000 ways not to make a light bulb; I only needed to find one way to make it work.” His perseverance is amazing, especially since he did not know if he would ever find a way to make a light bulb. Edison cared about designing a light bulb, and that care enabled him to persevere and ultimately find success.

Finally, we have an amazing example of people who care right here at Rowland Hall: our teachers. There are far too many examples to cover in an hour, much less in a five-minute speech, but I will list a couple. 

I love to read the Canvas comments that teachers write. Our teachers do not merely check to see if we submitted something; they actually read through our work and often leave their thoughts as well. An amazing example of this that I have experienced this year has been from Dr. Johnson, who wrote thoughtful multi-sentence responses to more than half of my nightly homework assignments, not to mention the typical essay feedback Rowland Hall teachers provide.

Additionally, our teachers care about their subjects. I do not think I have taken any AP classes where we did not learn at least one thing that was beyond the intended scope of the course because our teacher believed it was valuable for us to know. Our teachers are willing to go on tangents to explain concepts we found interesting, and meet outside of class to go more in depth with those who are interested. I have not counted, but I would guess that more than half, possibly even more than three-quarters, of the classes here at Rowland Hall are not led by a textbook, but by a custom curriculum developed by the teacher that jumps around one or more textbooks, and often even a set of custom worksheets or assignments.

Our teachers also care about us. They attend our performances and sporting events, and they ask about them when we return from missing class. Our teachers acknowledge us in the hallway, work with us to keep assignments and assessments doable, and have spent the last month letting us know how much we will be missed.

I want to take this opportunity to thank all of the teachers at Rowland Hall, both those who are with us tonight either in person or virtually, as well as those who will hear or read my talk in the coming weeks and even those who will never know that I said this, for the extraordinary education and wonderful example you have provided for us. You have shaped us into the people we are today.

Gallup’s annual employee engagement survey, which tracks involvement and enthusiasm of employees in the workplace, found that engagement among US employees in 2024 was the lowest it has been since 2014, at a mere 31%, and has been trending downwards since the pandemic.

Our world needs engaged employees. It needs people who care, and let that care motivate them. I want to encourage all of you to go out into the world and find a reason to care. And when you do, I know you will do great things. Thank you.

Good evening, family, faculty, and, most importantly, to the class of 2025. As we begin I want to start off with a phrase that we all have either heard or said: Don’t be too eager to grow up; enjoy and appreciate this time while you are young. My name is William Chin and I am a Rowland Hall Lifer. I started at Rowland Hall in first grade, with Susannah Mellor. Fast forward 12 years: I am senior class president and the Mellor family hasn’t rid themselves of me, as I’ve spent many nights crashing at their house, watching sports with Ian. My academic journey has not been without hiccups. For preschool and kindergarten I attended a Montessori school. Let’s just say I did not do well with self-paced, explorative learning. I was always asking the teachers for a schedule and "What will we be doing next?" Without a structured plan I took to other, less productive endeavors, like giving my friend a haircut, which sadly carried on to me making some poor choices regarding my hair in high school. And even when I came to Rowland Hall, I do recall Susannah sent me to the principal’s office a few times in first grade. But I was ultimately provided with the structure and guidance here that I needed to thrive and build a foundation for future success. For this I am very grateful.

We are gathered here in the McCarthey Chapel, a place of significance for each of us in our Rowland Hall journey. Whether it was for concerts, speaking as our historical figures in third grade, or for spiritual teachings, this space is meaningful in so many ways. Baccalaureate has been a part of my Rowland Hall experience since my freshman year, through playing in the orchestra. There is a sense of anticipation in the air, looking forward to Saturday morning. Some of us might feel we’d like to fast forward through tonight, to just get to the “big event” or to more fun activities like Senior Sunset. But I think it’s worth taking the time this evening to reflect on how we got here and our Rowland Hall experience.

This idea of the McCarthey Chapel as a significant space prompted me to contemplate how other spaces in our school carry emotional weight. After all, we are the second to last class that will have spent our entire four years of high school on the Lincoln Street Campus. Yes, the building is old and past the point of rehabilitation. My mother says it smells the same as when she walked the halls 30 years ago. But so many of the spaces in the school are linked to significant memories for me, and I’m sure for all of you.

Such as Ms. Yoon’s orchestra room: Throughout the nearly eight years I’ve known her, she’s believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself, and I am deeply indebted to her for that. The couch in her room has been a place of humor and camaraderie and a safe space to just de-stress with friends. The couch itself, unfortunately, has not aged well.

The college counseling office: Being surrounded by so many successful and smart individuals in the class of 2025, I was convinced after a meeting during the fall of my senior year that there was no way I was going to get into any college. But it turns out that our college counselors were right. We ultimately all find a place that fits us.

The Larimer Center: I will remember the Collage concerts, looking out and seeing all our family and friends folded into the tiny auditorium seats, supporting the amazing range of artistic talent of the students. And I thank all my classmates for putting up with my jokes of the week. The Larimer Center is also where I gave my Grandparents' Day speech earlier this year, honoring one of the most important people in my life, my grandma.

My Grandma Nancy still lives next door to me. She will be 84 years old this year, and she reminds me often to be grateful. Yes, I have felt at times that my parents were just out to make my life difficult—for example, nagging me about what appeared as incomplete on Canvas. Seriously, the teacher just hadn’t updated it yet. But really, we are all so fortunate to have been given the opportunity to attend Rowland Hall. The teachers and coaches here have only wanted us to become the best versions of ourselves. I cried when fourth grade was over and I realized I wouldn’t get to have the guidance and support of Ms. Love on a daily basis anymore. Or KP hugging and congratulating me after orchestra concerts and leading the student section in cheers at my basketball games. And Coach Zack, striving to not only make us better basketball players, but better humans and leaders. I hope all of our faculty members know the positive impacts they have had not only on our education but on our lives. I know every graduation speech says this, but you are truly one of a kind, you will not be forgotten, and we will miss you.

In two days we will be high school graduates. We will be entering a new phase of our lives. I might not give my roommate at Purdue a haircut, but certainly there will be challenges. We will all make mistakes and life will get hard, but we must be resilient and not lose sight of our goals. There will be moments of doubt, but also moments of growth that shape who we are meant to become. Our time at Rowland Hall has taught us well to get back up and persevere. And no matter where we go, we’ll carry the strength and support of this community with us.

As we prepare for Saturday I want to return to that universal piece of advice of: Don’t be too eager to grow up, and to enjoy and appreciate this time while you are young. This has always been a challenge for me, as nothing seems more exciting than the prospect of independence: being in charge of myself, traveling when I want, and providing for myself. I am always ready for “what’s next.” I know that the reality of “what’s next” will not really hit me until I part with my parents in Indiana in late August. But to all of my 2025 classmates, we should really try to take these last few days with one another and the next few months with our families to reflect on and appreciate our Rowland Hall experience. Specifically, the impact the faculty members have had on our development into young adults and the love and dedication of our families.

Thank you and congratulations to the class of 2025!

Good afternoon, faculty, staff, coaches, admin, and, of course, my fellow peers.

After volunteering for this speech, I was mad at myself when I realized I had added something to my to-do list when I was so excited to not have to do anything for a little while (little do I know, huh?). But writing this speech was not as much work as you’d think and it allowed me to have some good laughs. Let me tell you about what high school was for me:

High school was taking four years to actually put a lip sync together (and still getting shafted out of some Battle of the Classes points).

It was being bribed with Coffee Garden gift cards, only to find out they only had five dollars on them.

It was having some random person (that sometimes was your classmate) steal your senior spot every time you were running late, even though there is a clear sign telling them not to park there.

It was trying to take a test while another class was blasting music or banging on the walls (Spanish class had some rough times, let me tell you).

It was the smell of burning science experiments, being blessed with an amazing concoction from food science (Tascha, please give me your dinner roll recipe!), and it was being deathly scared to walk down the Rowmark hallway because of the endless hazards it contained.

It was going to the tech office because every time a teacher assigned something on lockdown browser, it never worked, so we had to visit the tech guys once a week. I am sure you are more than over all of the dumb questions I have asked you, so thank you, tech!

High school was also Mr. Long screaming at the freshman to stop blocking the hallway only for them to do it again not one minute later. Sigh. When will they ever learn?

It was knowing everyone in your grade, but always seeing someone you've never seen everyday.

And in between this chaotic combination of what made up high school, it made Rowland Hall what it is.

Now that I've basically given a perfect recap of high school, let me thank everyone who got us here.

Señor, for your jokes and playing Matamoscas. Mr. Pinto, for Disney music and chatting with us. Tascha, for helping us survive AR Chem and for always leveling with us as humans. Mr. Hori, for starting each physics class with a life story. Dr. Kogan, for your love of history and wise words. Ms. Friedman, for being the reason our Advisory was so much fun. Dr. Hickman, for your constant enthusiasm and making me a better writer.

And to staff, admin, tech, and coaches, thank you truly for building this space and helping us get to where we are today.

Also a special thanks to Stan for all that you do and for guiding me to take the right turn onto 800 South without dying. I'm hoping I'm not the only one who relies on him or else that would be a little embarrassing.

Now, I'd like to leave you with something I wrote earlier this year in lit class, which was an open letter. Believe it or not, Dr. Hickman does in fact think very thoroughly about her assignments, so naturally my letter turned into something I needed to hear and maybe you do too.

Title: "I Hate to Break It to You, but the Future Doesn’t Exist."

To whomever might also be feeling slightly unfulfilled,

Will we look back on our lives satisfied that we lived them to the fullest?

“What best distinguishes our species is an ability that scientists are just beginning to appreciate: We contemplate the future.” — Martin Seligman and John Tierney, The New York Times

Ironically, one of the very characteristics that makes us human can also lead to our greatest downfall.

Eckhart Tolle says it perfectly: “People don’t realize that now is all there ever is; there is no past or future except as memory or anticipation in your mind.”

Until recently, I had been anticipating my whole life. But then I realized I am already 17 years in.

The scariest question I always come back to is: How much of my life have I genuinely lived?

I recently had many moments where I realized that throughout high school, I had been so focused on getting into college and the newfound freedom I was going to get, but within seconds, I was filled with regret, regret that I had not enjoyed high school more.

Your future is the horizon. When you reach the spot on the horizon you set out to see one year from now, it becomes your today.

The horizon always moves, and so will you. You will never reach the future.

So, instead of letting the future paralyze us, let it guide us to be more present and value our individual actions more.

“Your new life is going to cost you your old one.” — Brianna West

I am exhausted from continually stressing my way through each day because I don’t know what will happen in the future. So, I won’t do it anymore.

Personally, I choose to be happy now.

I suggest you do too.

Sincerely,
Thea DeBellis

As we occasionally get caught trying to reach that point on the horizon, let us fully enjoy where we are now—graduating. I have no doubt that our class will continue to create beautiful chaos in the respective destinations we are all going to. When I say that I truly believe in each and every one of my fellow class of 2025, I mean it!

So, I'll see you bright and early tomorrow to graduate!

Also, can we agree 2025 is a pretty awesome year to go out on?

Thank you.

What is high school? I asked ChatGPT this question and it told me, “High school is a level of education that comes after middle or junior high school and before college or university.” I don't think anyone in this room could say that this is wrong. But it's not the whole truth, as one would expect when asking a question of artificial intelligence.

The purpose of high school was to prepare us for college, sort of like Chat said, and Rowland Hall has done this perfectly. I have confidence in my academics moving into next year and I think that this feeling is a common theme for those lucky enough to have our education.

Whether it was writing my first ever DBQ with Dr. Jones in AP Euro, learning about polars in BC Calc with Mrs. Croft, or reading Passing in English 11 with Dr. Jackson, every assignment inside the classroom or at home has taught me about being a student, how to get my work done, and challenged me to think deeply and pass my limits so that I can stand here now and say that I'm ready. Every student in this room has these experiences, because no matter what class they took, or which teacher they had, they were at Rowland Hall, so that teacher and that class showed them they are ready for college.

But, surprise surprise, there's a cliché twist: “It's about the friends we made along the way.” In all seriousness, though, clichés exist for a reason, and I've come to the conclusion that no matter how many times it's said, the different perspectives of every cliché connect differently every time. While Chat described exactly what high school is in its rawest form, it missed so much of what we have here. It missed the living part of high school, the human interactions we rely on every day. When you walk into school and immediately know where to find your friends. When you enter a classroom and see your favorite teacher. Or when you meet someone whom you've never talked to before in a chance encounter. These small things are a part of our everyday lives in high school and cannot be left out of its definition.

Some of you have been attending Rowland Hall practically since you could walk, whereas others, like me, only attended for part of high school, or somewhere in between. For those who don't know, I moved to Rowland Hall sophomore year to ski for the Rowmark program. I reached out to Rowland Hall and within hours I already had a Zoom meeting scheduled with Lisa Miranda. I would not have come to Rowland Hall if it wasn't for her, and for that I am very grateful. She's taken me through every step of my Rowland Hall journey and defines “welcome everyone.” Lisa was my first experience with the faculty at Rowland, but she certainly wasn't the only one. All of the teachers care, even if it doesn't seem like it, when you're up at 2 in the morning still working on Pearson assignments. The faculty power the community and allow for the student body to imitate.

Which the student body did. I've always been more of an introvert and it was scary leaving my closest friends to move to a new state which I had never even visited before. My first experience with anyone at Rowland Hall was a ski camp with Rowmark. I was terrified, sitting in a circle around Todd Brickson as he explained the camp to everyone. I was surrounded by people whom I'd never met, and now I was going to spend a whole week in a house with some of them. Then there was my orientation at school, where I was again thrown into a group of faces who were all new. But I was welcomed by these strangers despite my weird quirks that you've all grown accustomed to.

Without being welcomed, my high school career could have been far different, but here, relationships matter. From those first days to now, three years later, with so many memories to reflect on. Not all the memories are necessarily good, but each one played a crucial role in shaping who I am today.

Moving into next year, each one of us is spreading out across the country, or in some cases internationally, and who knows where we'll end up. Some of us may see our friend everyday, others may run into that random kid from Spanish class on the fifth of October in 2035, or in some cases Saturday might be it. While this thought may seem sad, we've grown as people and learned for life about something far more important than the integral of tan(x). We learned how to be human, despite all the ChatGPT we used.

My final thought, because nobody likely wants to listen to me talk anymore, is that no matter what, I'm glad I was here. I'm done with high school, and I never want to go back; as Lisa says, “You don't want to stay here.” But now we can live with purpose as graduating students of Rowland Hall.

Thank you.

On Saturday morning, I will graduate Rowland Hall as a Lifer. Throughout my time at Rowland Hall, this label has always been one that felt a little different for me than for many others. The title of Lifer is much more literal in my case, due to my father’s job at the school. With him, I took my first tour of Rowland Hall before i could talk, and as a baby I would crawl through the halls of the McCarthey Campus. Rowland h=Hall has been a constant part of my life for as long as I have lived.

Being a Lifer can be fun. Ninety percent of my friend group I have known for a decade or longer, which means we can reference inside jokes from the fourth grade like it was yesterday. If I close my eyes, I can perfectly trace my commute to school, yard by yard, because I have been driving it for the better half of my life. The best part of being a Lifer is knowing exactly what comes next. Every summer I would finish a grade, knowing in advance all of the teachers and students that I would be working with next year. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same about going into college. For the first time in my entire life, the next steps of my academic career are relatively unknown to me. I am going to start at a school next fall where I will struggle to find my way around, and none of the teachers will have prior personal experiences with me.

While I have been blessed with the opportunities that Rowland Hall offers, sometimes I have felt that the title of Lifer conveys a sense of static uniformity in my school years. While growing up in this tight-knit community, I have found that one of my biggest challenges has always been distinguishing myself from Rowland Hall. While being in the same group of people for a decade can be reliable, it also makes it harder to grow and redefine oneself, which is an important element of growing up.

For me, growing up in the Rowland Hall community has provided so much safety and familiarity in the social and emotional spheres of my life that for years I failed to pursue any sort of personal development. Each year felt repetitive, and I could not distinguish change between my life in elementary school and my life halfway through middle school. For years I decided that it was just easier to stick to what I knew. I stayed with the friends I had, continued to pursue subjects I knew I was good at, and I leaned into the personality that others expected from me. While it was the easier path to maintain, I found my life here was growing fairly monotonous.

This is why Covid ironically ended up having such a positive impact on my personal development. Lockdown separated me from the coddling nature of my school life, and forced me to take an introspective look at who I was away from Rowland Hall. Spending most of my time by myself allowed me to challenge my perspectives and motivations; it allowed me to ask, “What feeds me?”, “What is something that is purely my own?”, and “Am I really the person who I want to continue to be?” While these were not questions i could answer in just one year away, I can recognize that Covid was the disruption I needed to reorient myself, and begin shaping who I wanted to be.

I am proud to say that when I read my eighth-grade letter to my senior self, I was able to recognize major changes in my personality and interests. I am not the same person I was in middle school, nor am I the same person I was last year. I have belatedly begun to grow as a person, instead of just a learner. Believe me, though, when I say that I have not even come close to mastering my sense of self. When Michelle asked me what kind of college I wanted to go to, my answer was, “Someplace just like Rowland Hall.” After all of that “personal growth,” I still had no idea how to imagine operating outside of the safety net this community has created for me. However, I think recognizing areas where I haven't changed is part of my path of self-actualization. I might be nervous about my ability to navigate the “real world,” but now I trust myself to make choices that feel right for me, instead of what others might expect of me.

If I could offer one challenge to students at Rowland Hall, it would be to isolate themselves in productive ways. The community and academics here can be overwhelming, and often it is more tempting to coast along the path you have established instead of trying to forge a new one. Moments of growth don’t have to come during cataclysmic events and changes, and if I had one wish for my past self, it would be that I started challenging myself in introspective ways earlier.

That being said, make the most of your time at Rowland Hall. I would not be able to afford all of this personal development without the support this community gives me. Students and faculty are where this school stands out, and many other kids our age lack the resources to try new things and make mistakes to grow from. Begin your midlife crisis now; start trying something unexpected or out of the ordinary for you. If it doesn’t work out, nothing big was lost, and you learned a valuable lesson about yourself.

My main advice is to find something that you don’t have to share. Don’t let others’ beliefs about who you are and what you enjoy limit your own perception of self, because at the end of the day you will leave this school, and it is essential you understand who you are outside of it.

On Saturday morning, I will graduate Rowland Hall as a Lifer. I will accept my diploma with the knowledge that what I have accomplished here does not define my life, but has instead adeptly prepared me to enter the next stage of my inexorable personal development. Thank you.

The Three Sides That Built Me

On my first day at Rowland Hall in seventh grade, I cried in the bathroom.

I didn’t know anyone. I felt like I didn’t belong. I remember sitting in that stall, wishing I could disappear or rewind to somewhere I understood—somewhere I felt understood.

What I didn’t know then was that, in the years ahead, I wouldn’t just find where I belonged—I’d realize I never had to choose just one version of myself. I could be three sides of one whole: the kid from Pocatello, the proud Pakistani Muslim, and the student who came into his own here at Rowland Hall.

Side One: My Pocatello Country Side

A lot of you know that I grew up in Pocatello, Idaho—home to mountains, rivers, and quiet mornings. I learned to fish, camp, and appreciate stillness. This is the side responsible for my cowboy hats and boots. But I also learned what it meant to feel different. In most of my classes, I was the only one who looked like me.

People were kind. But there’s a difference between being accepted and being included.

I remember a moment in elementary school during a class discussion on 9/11. As everyone talked about remembrance and patriotism, all I felt was fear—not of terrorists, but of being seen as one. I blurted out, “You guys don’t think I’m a bad person, right?”

The silence that followed wasn’t angry—but it was distant. That moment made me feel like I had to constantly explain who I was, like being Muslim was something I needed to soften to make others comfortable.

Side Two: My Pakistani Side

When I came to Rowland Hall, something shifted.

Suddenly I was surrounded by people who asked questions not out of suspicion, but curiosity. For the first time, I didn’t have to defend my identity—I got to share it.

I talked about my culture, my traditions, my faith—and people listened. Being Pakistani wasn’t something I had to hide or explain away. It was something I could celebrate.

Rowland Hall gave me the space to embrace my heritage with pride, and to feel seen—not just for fitting in, but for standing out.

Side Three: Salt Lake City—Becoming Me

More than anything, Rowland Hall helped me grow into the person I was meant to be.

Here, I discovered my love for engineering and problem-solving. I found a passion for aviation and cars—and the dream of building something of my own one day. I picked up painting, the guitar, the piano—not because I had to, but because it made me feel more like myself.

I learned how to open up, how to trust that people wanted to know the full me—not just the version that was easy to understand.

And I owe a lot of that to the people around me. Mr. Smith—my advisor, teacher, and Interim chaperone—thank you for seeing something in me before I saw it in myself. For encouraging me to advocate for myself, for sharing your love of the outdoors—and your love of pickles.

This year, everything clicked. I stopped trying to be someone and just became myself. I’m not done growing—but for the first time, I’m moving forward with clarity and purpose.

Conclusion: Carrying All Sides Forward

Looking back, I realize I was never just the kid from Pocatello, or just the Pakistani student, or just the Rowland Hall version of myself.

I’m all of those things, at once—and I always will be.

Each side gave me something. Pocatello gave me peace and resilience. My culture gave me pride and strength. Rowland Hall gave me the freedom to grow.

To the younger me in that bathroom stall—you’ll be okay. You’ll cry. You’ll stumble. But you’ll find people who see you. You’ll build yourself—one side at a time.

And to anyone here who feels like they’re too different, too quiet, or too much—you don’t need to fit into one box. Your strength is in your layers. The real beauty is in learning to carry all of them.

Thank you, Rowland Hall—for helping me carry mine.

I’ve been summoned up here today to tell you my story. I can honestly say that out of the eight or so schools I’ve been to, Rowland Hall prepares their students for life. I pondered a lot about my story and if there was anything to tell, and maybe that’s because my most pivotal moments in my time at Rowland Hall come from places of pain. I bet you didn't expect that. It was painful asking for extensions and balancing a sport and clubs on top of our rigorous academics. None of that was painless. Yet in just four years’ time, I am able to say I made it, and so will you.

At times the culture here seems to downplay the greatness that goes on in these very halls. And students, I’m looking at you. As I reflect upon the epicenter of awesomeness that comes from my class I’m proud to say I got to know each and every one of you. I’ve heard kids obsess over 95% not being good enough when those same kids have changed my life.

Relationships matter is what we are always taught, and as much as I’ve learned from the remarkable teachers here, I’ve equally learned as much from my peers. Rowland Hall students have big goals, dreams, and aspirations, some much bigger than what I envisioned when I came here in seventh grade. Nonetheless, my peers accepted me and even celebrated me in pursuit of becoming a real-life mermaid, and so now when I go off to study marine biology, you know why.

These aspirations always felt like “grown-up stuff,” but Rowland Hall doesn't believe in separating the two. I know because when I ended up co-hosting and planning a whole leadership conference I was in disbelief that a kid like me could have a voice, let alone access to school card for Parfé Diem. So when you're here, know that you're surrounded by winners, leaders, and activists, and students and teachers with some influence within the larger community of Utah and beyond. Just know that, hey, you're that person too. And that 95% is more than enough to get you where you want to be.

I was always looking for my school home. After I shadowed Mr. Stern's class, I had already begun to make you all my family. My peers have since taught me how to write killer emails, utilize the library, or, better yet, the Café coffee. I’ve watched students at Rowland Hall petitioning to take more Advanced Placement classes on top of our already advanced curriculum, signing up for the seemingly impossible, and I felt ever inspired. When I watched a sophomore get a cardiology internship, I was inspired! I don't know if you’ve seen that RoHo Decisions page, but if I can brag about the class of 2025 a bit, Rowland Hall is sending kids off to Cornell, Dartmouth, Columbia, Northeastern, Harvard, and I get to say I knew those kids. You all are my heroes. And it doesn't matter where you are going or how long you’ve been here or how you got here, it's the fact that you are here that makes you special. I’ve met a lot of kids and I never met kids that challenged me intellectually, kids that taught me how to live.

I left Rowland Hall for half a year or so in ninth grade and let me tell you, I’ve never wanted to be back at a school more than I wished to be back at this one. I could go on and on about the educators who’ve shaped my very being—KP, Mr. Long, Mr. Wilson, Dr. Jones—and the students who, on no sleep, pull out 5s on AP tests like it’s easy.

So yes, if I am to be truthful it takes a lot of hard work and courage to survive Rowland Hall, but without a doubt it’s worth it and I’d do it a thousand times over if meant being with the class of 2025 again. And so, why it was painful, a pain that most students wouldn’t be able to endure, after meeting Dr. Patel and Dr. Rida, you’d instantly be persuaded.

A mentor of mine, Michale Adams, once told me that not many people can identify with the Rowland Hall lifestyle. And that, that is what brings all of us today, right now, together. Those of you in ninth grade, I've been there. I took Modern Japan, okay, it’s hardddd. It’s the best history class but they don’t tell you Confucianism is not for the weak. I’ve been there, juniors. The ad project, it’s treacherous. But you know what, when I was in the drive-thru line at Dutch Bros to get me a coffee with far too much sugar and espresso at 10 pm and I told that worker about that ad project, she thought I was working on my dissertation. So, ladies and gentleman, when they tell you that not many people can identify with the Rowland Hall lifestyle, you wear that like a badge of honor!

Now, to summarize my time here and give you all who still reside here something to chew on, celebrate your wins because you all are all winning big. Rowland Hall was not lying when they said that we students will be people the world needs. I watched Gabby Miranda say one time, "I think I can be that somebody," and next thing I know she’s on TV reading her poetry and shaking hands with Jill Biden.

So celebrate every day to remind yourself why you're enduring so much challenge. Make sure to laugh, a lot! Take French and let it take you. Just remember that you are the anomaly, the 1%, the small portion of students who get to say that they can identify with the Rowland Hall lifestyle, which means you came from this strict but loving home, a place that strategically nurtures young minds to be the impossible, to become an educator, a peer, a mentor, a person worth knowing, a person that this world needs.

Thank you.