thank you.

Walking into this class crafted my own demise…I thought. What I had initially generalized to be an inescapable nightmare of an English class actually turned out to be one of the most enjoyable experiences of my entire high schooling, and my gratitude extends beyond words. 

I’m deeply indebted to Mrs. Valentino. Your honesty used to stun me, but now it’s one of the biggest things that I respect about you. I missed out on this bluntness in my past English teachers, and I’ll miss it in my future ones. I looked forward to your teachings everyday solely for your unpredictable nature. Standing on the chair, calling a sword phallic, and shouting, “it’s always the Russians”, made the class more than tolerable, but something to actually look forward to every morning. You were one of, if not the most, impactful teachers I have ever encountered. Even if it’s shaming us, our interactions with you are never meaningless. You go out of your way to provide an immersive experience for your students such as introducing them to “Clyde’s” and bring attention to overlooked topics like exclaiming, “amazon, I should have told them that’s the devil”. Your passion for literature makes me passionate about things I’d never thought to care for. It’s you who truly made what could have been a hellish experience a pleasant surprise—an inspiration, really. 

Thank you, Mrs. Valentino for inspiring me. 

Of course, what’s a classroom without classmates? I’m extremely grateful to the ones at my table, who I can now sincerely call friends. Hannah, thank you for being one of the real ones and panicking with me about English even in other classes. Natalie, thank you for your cleverness, both in humor and quick thinking when we’re put on the spot. Mili, thank you for your random stories and jokes that keep our table alive. Ana Sofia, thank you for your yawns and out of pocket noises that make us smile. Divya, I cannot thank you enough for the entertainment you’ve provided me. Your intense wait for the excavator, your overly passionate use of the word blasphemous, and your insightful nonsense are some of the smallest yet most valuable things that made me love this class in all of its wholesomeness. Varsha, you said the things that I sometimes didn’t have the guts to say myself. Linsey, you’ve stood with me side by side and taken the brutal scores of our writing together. Every individual in room 214 knowingly or not, has made at least one day of this class better at one point or another. Sara, thank you for giving me my most viewed blog of all time. Your gremlin nature and political incorrectness is something that has clearly impacted more students than I could possibly name. Bismaad, thank you for sharing the roller coaster of emotions from this class with me. The frustration of textbook questions, the excitement of the play, the satisfaction of publicly embarrassing Sara. I couldn’t have gone through this class without you. 

My gratitude also reaches out to those I’ve never met. Their stories have touched me and shaped an entirely new outlook on life. To Lynn Nottage, who taught me that life deserves second chances through Sweat and Clyde’s. To Scott Fitzgerald, who highlighted the fragility of leading a false life through The Great Gatsby. To Art Spiegelman, who shed light through Maus the sophistication of an underrated art form. To David Foster Wallace, who woke me up through Consider the Lobster to the dangers of consumerism to which we succumb to. To Horace Mitchell Miner, who made me question how quickly I believe and follow something through The Body Ritual of the Nacirema. Each of you has forced me to confront the sad reality of how I’ve taken literature for granted for so long. I cannot continue this list because I simply cannot find an end to it. There are millions of works which I have yet to thank—but it is to you all I thank for getting me started. 

I cannot begin to express my gratitude for the work that I’ve been cursing all year. My deepest thanks to the blog posts I initially had to force myself to write. I began pouring my heart and soul into these posts once I recognized their empowerment. Such a simple assignment has made me revive a childhood desire to pursue journalism. It is the only assignment I’d look forward to every week. I’m extremely grateful to the in-class essays that have made my hands tremble and sweat in fear. While I may have never enjoyed the process of writing them, it’s the progress they’ve shown that fulfills me. At the beginning of the year I would have simply stated, "Source B also discusses the ‘cereal test'". Now I add stylistic phrases like, "but in fact, gut-wrenching news like the Israel-Palestine War should certainly not be a casual Sunday paper at the breakfast table". Without these essays, I wouldn’t know what style even is beyond a robotic academic tone. That each piece of writing is unique, and that’s what’s stimulating. These writings have taught me for once that the grade isn’t the experience. 

Lastly, I’d like to thank the windows of the classroom. I cannot thank you enough for providing me a space to dream.