After four years of late-night study sessions, Schoology assignments piling up on Sunday nights, cafeteria gossip, awkward group projects, and too many emails we forgot to open, graduation is finally here. Somewhere between freshman orientation and cap and gown pickup, we grew up. Enough, at least, to be sent off into the world with a diploma and a shaky but hopeful sense of what’s next.
For me, the concept of growth has always felt like a tree, something that starts small, roots itself in uncertain soil, and slowly stretches upward, weathering every storm, shedding what no longer serves it, and blooming when the time is right. That tree is me (my last name is pronounced “tree,” after all). Or maybe it’s who I’ve been becoming all along.
Little me had big dreams. College. Freedom. Stability. Building a life that looked nothing like the turmoil and chaos within the home I grew up in. As a first-generation student raised in a low-income home, navigating school felt like walking through storms with no map, no flashlight, and a backpack full of fragile hope. My parents did the best they could with the little they had. Every coupon book was marked up like a study guide; every piece of clothing from Costco was stretched across over the years; every grocery run was turned into a week of silent sacrifices. While there were bulk snacks and free samples, I saw the math behind the golden glow of the $5 rotisserie chicken and the $1.50 hot dog. And I tried to do the same: stretching what we had, learning as I went, and growing through moments that felt far too heavy for someone my age.
There were times I wanted to give up. Times I almost did.
But here I am.
I got into college. I’m building my own path—branch by branch. And even though I didn’t have much guidance, I was determined. I pushed my roots deeper in search of strength, even when the ground felt unstable, even when the trees around me seemed to have more sun, more space, more support. I pushed through. And next year, I’ll continue that growth “on Grounds,” with new roots to plant and new branches ready to stretch out to further opportunities.
High school wasn’t perfect, but it was meaningful. In many ways, it became a refuge for the version of me that needed hope—a place where I promised I’d build something better. The lows taught me resilience; the highs gave me reasons to smile. I’ve met people I’ll never forget, and some I had to let go. I’ve made memories I’ll carry forever (like the infamous portraits I drew of my friends), and others I’ve learned from. I’m especially grateful for the teachers who saw something in me, who pushed me, and who gave me grace. Classes challenged and inspired me to find my passions and envision a future where I make my mark.
Being part of the UPISB has been one of the most meaningful parts of my high school experience. From sometimes heated debates and fierce simulations to inside jokes, quote documents, unforgettable Kahoots, and brainrotted presentations, the UPISB gave me memories I’ll always carry with me. It was a space that both challenged and uplifted me, where I met peers and mentors who truly believed in my potential. It’s also where I began to discover my voice and purpose, shaping how I hope to address the very issues I once faced in the ever-changing world of international studies and business.
Now, standing at the edge of graduation with the trees behind me and the wind pushing me forward, I can finally say what I’ve been longing to tell my younger self:
You did it.
And what’s more—you did it all on your own.
To my fellow seniors: this is not the end, rather it’s the end of the beginning. Our roots have been planted here, but our branches will reach far and wide. Wherever life takes us next, college, careers, new cities, or unexpected detours—we’ll keep growing. We all have roots in the past, but we will continue to branch out toward the future.