Confessions of a Highschool Valedictorian

A year into my university journey, the lessons I learned in high school still hold unexpected relevance to my life. Though the valedictorian title "should" be what I think of as my greatest accomplishment, more than anything, I remain shocked by the extent to which I fundamentally changed in those two hectic final DP years. 

At the start of grade eleven, I realized that I now had to crouch down to see myself in the bathroom mirror. I was eerily familiar with my school’s third-floor bathroom, so this sudden change was unsettling.

There’s an automated air freshener that sprays a sickeningly synthetic-smelling floral mist every 30 minutes, blinding motion-activated yellow-tinged fluorescent lighting, 5 stalls with artificial hickory doors, and 4 sinks with slowly dripping taps… but it was the 3 round mirrors that always captivated me. A safe sheltered space where I could exist in peace and vulnerability without the judgmental stares of everyone. But it took growing a few centimeters taller to detangle the paradoxical irony that looked me right in the eye: these mirrors were simultaneously a protective comfort zone and a gateway to unending self-criticism.

I’d looked into those mirrors a thousand times because trapped behind their perfectly spotless surface was a reflection of who I longed to be - the persona I had meticulously crafted. A poised yet sociable enigma. A Pinterest collage of my ideal self that had been carefully constructed to perfection whilst maintaining an effortless disposition.

Persona Nourhan, ‘Nour’, was the perfect student. She was always on time, always cheerful, always prepared, and always the first to submit her work. She never struggled with assignments or found them challenging. She always got the highest grades in her class, but when handed her test papers back, she didn’t celebrate or scream. Instead, she simply glanced at the number in the top right corner with a quiet grin before dissecting the teacher’s comments to pinpoint what she did wrong. ‘Nour’ walked into every test with an impassive mask that never faltered. ‘Nour’ never stressfully anticipated her report card because she expected top marks and knew she would achieve them. ‘Nour’ didn’t worry about the student council election results because she knew she would always win. People often say that the choices you make are reflective of who you are - and ‘Nour’ made all the right choices.

But the bathroom mirrors knew the truth, they saw the truth. Mirror 1 watched me hurriedly wash my tears away and practice my smile before strutting into homeroom for morning attendance. Mirror 2 curiously observed as I excitedly called my mom, joyfully jumping up and down, to tell her I had finally gotten a scribbled “Excellent” on my math test after hours of trying to understand logarithms. Mirror 3 scrutinized my student council speech as I practiced it over and over in the hours leading up to the presentations. In times of chaos and uncertainty, the mirrors offered me a moment of solitude to consult ‘Nour’ on how I should move forward - I always believed that she helped me stay focused, driven, and motivated. However, this notion that always being “put-together” was the only path to success had at some point swapped our places so that I was trapped behind the looking glass while ‘Nour’ roamed free. Leaving me to sit in the front row and watch someone else play the lead role in my life.

However, as the top of my head was cut out of frame and I could no longer look my reflection in the eye, I realized that the character I had birthed without labour or 9 months of pain had remained stagnant whilst I had matured. I had outgrown ‘Nour’. The persona did not change - she had swapped out her loom band bracelets and mood rings for mascara and lipgloss, yet she remained a child in a critic’s playground. In an ideal world, I would be perfect, but when the illusion was shattered, I saw the value of being unapologetically myself. To remain authentic and true even when I was nervous, struggling, or overwhelmed did not make me weak - it made me human. Even though humanity was not perfect… the mirrors helped me see that perfection was simply not real.