this is my year

The buzz has begun again as it has every year, arriving with the changing leaves of the numerable deciduous trees on our campus: college applications. As an insider looking around, I’ve noticed the pressure mounting for quite some time; for about as long as we’ve been in high school. It’s a frightening process: trying to condense four years of your academic and extracurricular achievement on an 8 1/2x 11 sheet of paper; and even worse, trying to sum up your intellectual, personal, and social being in 500 words or less. Perhaps what makes us most nervous is the fact that we might not be who those college admissions officers want us to be, that maybe we’ve wasted our years in high school taking the wrong classes, joining the wrong sports, or focusing on the wrong subjects. There are countless things wrong with the application process- from the unbalanced emphasis of test scores over personality to the limitations we put on ourselves trying to be the “well-rounded” student we hope they’re looking for. It is in this twisted form of prostitution that we try to sell ourselves, wrapped up in the perfect package, ready and willing to be molded into the leaders of tomorrow. But what if we’re leaders now? What if all this talk about needing to be chosen is just another way of learning to choose ourselves over everything else; what if it’s about putting ourselves first, and not allowing a letter to determine just how worthy we are of greatness. Regardless of where you start, more important is the journey you take to end up where you want to be. College is just part of that journey, part of our never-ending quest to make a difference; and while it may change our lives, may alter our futures, may even change us as people, it is only as big and bad as we make it. College is like any other test- it can make us or break us. But it cannot measure how capable we are of fulfilling our potential. It’s alright if an admission’s officer doesn’t see it, as long as you do.

Love is in the Air
J. Covarrubias

With the cold air of winter comes the sweet warmth of hot chocolate, wearing scarves, and holding hands. As the seasons change once again, we begin to experience what we as Southern Californians rarely see: winter. Rejoicing in the perfect weather to actually wear out pea coats and scarves, enjoying the beginnings of holiday celebrations, and realizing what forty degree weather feels like while wearing flip flops, the students of the RH seem to welcome the cold weather with great affability and enthusiasm. Yet it is significant that as the weather cools, friendships warm up. Recently it has become overwhelmingly noticeable to see our Regents walking two by two. Perhaps it is in the ritualistic hibernation of wintertime that finding someone to keep warm with becomes just a natural solution to keep warm. Some blame the flood of new relationships on the holidays, which are notoriously known to incite cheer and friendliness, while others see it as a “domino effect” on the populace, with one relationship provoking the next and so forth. Walking through the senior quad at lunch, however, the effect seems undeniably to be a result of “love, actually.” It has been likened to a lottery, in which during the springtime the names are thrown into a hat, and shaken through summer and fall, until just the right breeze moves in, and an unlikely person moves just an inch closer to keep warm.
You might wonder why clichéd high school romance should make this issues column, and I guess it is my place to explain the logic behind the madness, but I think Nietzsche phrased it just right when he said, “There is always some madness in love, but there is also some reason in madness.” The truth is, the friendships and relationships that grow and blossom through high school seem to capture the instance in which the wind rustling in the leaves and the warm breath from a sigh can dissolve all reason to grow up and yet give proof that we have. Having a reason to come to school, besides the thrilling adventure of a calculus test, makes each day all the more meaningful. As students, we are often so wrapped up into the ideals of teenage angst and the overpowering thought of destruction accompanying a “B” that we fail to see past ourselves for a second. The reason behind the madness is ultimately the fact that we start caring about someone else for a second. It is not in the “give a little, get a lot” kind of way, but in the give a little, feel better about yourself kind of way that we make it through the cold winters.
The Beatles knew it best when they said “all you need is love.” For us seniors, life seems to move to the beat of the newest Outkast song; so fast you forget the lyrics. Through the momentous last months of our winter in high school, I propose we stir to the rhythm of oldies, the classics, the ones you catch yourself singing in the shower. Perhaps the tune may not be about someone in particular for you, but it will remind you to love the time of year when love is in the air.

A few years ago my parents changed the locks of our front door. I don’t know whether it was out of a sense of safety or for piece of mind, but what I do know is that they didn’t tell me about it. After a couple of weeks of frustration trying to get in with the wrong key, I finally took a hint and asked my parents about it, and with an ease and nonchalance, they handed me the new key, wondering why I hadn’t asked them for one earlier.
For years I’ve come home on my own; with two parents working overtime all the time, I’ve always gotten a lot of time to myself. I’ve always entered the house with my own set of keys.
So when they changed the locks, I added a new key to my chain. It looks identical to the old one, so they’re impossible to tell apart. I know I should just take the old key out of the chain altogether- I’m sure it would be much easier. But I don’t. And so everyday for the past 3 years I’ve tried to open the door using the guess and check method. And the first key I pick is always the wrong key- and my gut always tells me it’s the wrong key. But I try it anyway. And every time I finally open the door I laugh at myself, and wonder why I don’t just listen to my gut, but then I think, at least I can hear it; that’s progress.