I wrote the ending of this testimonial first, because starting it was too daunting a task. I don’t know if walking these halls for the past four years is prerequisite enough for me to advise the younger generations, but I do know that my time here at Westborough High School has been full in every sense of the word. 

Saying yes changed my life. When I first came to Westborough, I was the new girl who wasn’t part of anything, aimlessly figuring this town out behind a Covid (and figurative) face-mask. But somewhere along the way, I built a version of myself that freshman-year Myra would be shocked, intimidated, and excited by. For that, I am grateful, and to the word “yes,” I am forever indebted. 

One more thing saying yes taught me, though, is that the word “no” is okay too. 

My family has always made it a point to eat dinner together. Phones away, just the four of us. Breakfast can be rushed, oftentimes skipped; lunch is spent with friends over a Chipotle bowl or a trip to White City—but dinner, dinner is sacred. Dinner is the time to slow down, unfold your day, and enjoy the genuine company of your loved ones. My one and only regret through high school is having lost that sentiment. Whether it was tennis matches gone long, late-night Mr. WHS rehearsals, or cramming for ch*mistry tests, something else always seemed to take precedence. Not right away, of course, but slowly, the pressure to fill activity sections, ace every assessment, and maintain a social life added hundreds of bullets to my daily to-do list. In pleasing everyone else, I left myself and the people that matter the most behind. 

My message to whoever may have made it this far is this: the unimportant things will always seem important. If your high school experience is anything like mine was, chaotically (but enjoyably) cluttered with millions of commitments, every task will invoke a do-or-die instinct within you. 

If I skip this student council meeting, I will get kicked off of E-Board.

If I’m late to practice, Coach won’t let me play (and obviously this is the biggest match ever).

If this, then that. If I mess up, it’s over. Even the dramatics of typing that out felt ridiculous, but in the moment none of us are rational. We think too much and jump to fantastical conclusions, but, coming from the other side, it is really, truly, never that deep. My biggest fear in high school was letting others down, especially if I had made some sort of commitment to or for them. It didn’t matter if I was throwing up and feverish, or if waking my mom up at the crack of dawn was the only way to arrive on time. I could not fathom dropping the ball. That, however, is not selflessness. There is a stark, clear difference between showing up for people and believing your worth depends on never disappointing them.

As I approach graduation, the dinners I missed matter infinitely more than the meetings I can barely remember. So first, and most importantly, to my family: thank you, and sorry. 

Rayaan, thank you for being my go-to fun fact, and giving me most of my conversation pieces. Thank you for constantly being a source of entertainment, but more than that, one of comfort. I don’t know how I will eat full meals in college without stealing food off of your plate as you scream, give in, and sigh. 

Mama, through these last four years especially, you have somehow managed to interchangeably be my guidepost, advisor, best friend, and therapist. You’re the one person I can’t hide my bad days or anxieties from, and even though I hate that you can always tell when I’m upset, having someone who forces me to talk through and deal with my feelings is more meaningful than you know. I treasure our relationship so much, and though I have not actually said how much I’ll miss you or how unreal moving 2,000 miles away from you feels, know that I do feel it deeply.

Baba, I often think about how weirded out you and Mama must have been to have a daughter that wore a SpongeBob shirt with a bucket hat and banana-colored zip up nearly every day. Whether it was going downtown religiously or forgetting to stay true to my priorities once in a while, I want to thank you for letting me be dumb. You once told me you forget that I’m still a kid. I think, throughout much of my childhood, I did too, but you’ve always let me make mistakes and be imperfect, even when I believed nothing short of perfection was acceptable. I hope to go on to hone a discipline, work ethic, and sense of self that you’re proud of. 

Through the many clubs, teams, and group projects, I’ve learned that people determined to be unhappy with you will always find a reason to be, no matter how hard you try to satisfy everyone. No amount of effort can guarantee universal approval, and working overtime as though it can is a losing game. Furthermore, disappointing someone is inevitable, and exhausting yourself trying to prevent it is exactly that—exhausting. So, through everything, be someone you are proud of first. Set standards based on your own values. Produce work that satisfies you. Show up wholeheartedly, but selectively. Know your time is valuable. And lastly, bend over backwards only for those that would do the same for you, then, hold those people close, as they are rare and special. 

To those rare and special friends, many of whom graduated before me, thank you, too. 

Raina, through all of this, you were always a constant. You are the most introspective, passionate, idiosyncratic person I know, and I hope life only deepens those parts of you. And to the other half of Buch—Nan and Aadit—thanks for adopting Raina and I as honorary ‘25ers long before we earned the title of seniors. Along with Shaivi and Rachel, you are the people that make me laugh until I’m breathless and in pain. I hope that never changes. 

And to Mrs. Henderson, Tim, Aidan, and Miss Conrad—thank you for being the pillars of my journalistic ambitions so far, and showing me the passion that my future career could hold. In 20 years, when I’m a news anchor, editor, White House correspondent, or unemployed journalist ready to sell my soul to some marketing department, I’ll make sure everyone knows I got my start right here in room B331/Studio 33. 

Finally, to all the people I have yet to meet, places I have yet to see, and experiences I have yet to have, I cannot wait. I hope to grow into the community at the University of Texas at Austin in the same way I did here at WHS, carrying the lessons of these halls with me through everything. 

Go Rangers, and Hook ‘Em!