odyssey
the summer i became real
you wanna know someone i wish i was better friends with?
Lily Werve intrigues me. swimmer and member of my favorite couple in the world alike, the earliest moments i remember of us sharing a room was this SAT bootcamp thing in junior year. she was eccentric but still pretty amicable with people like Manu and Avery Shellow (i think she was there) where i found myself struggling to be cool. i also found myself struggling to do math, which she was also good at. but i want to draw attention to a moment i keep thinking back to. about 2 months ago, Lilly Riggs (other member of my favorite couple in the world) had a graduation-and-going-away party, and i may or may not have stayed there the longest out of anyone not named Lily. what can i say? i enjoy the company of my people and i sure as hell hate leaving it. Lilly was (if i recall correctly) helping some family members with something, and so i started having a one-on-one conversation with Lily. first of all, their love is real, and man it is beautiful. they are two small, silhouetted figures in a green traffic light holding hands with a heart between their heads and it is adorable. second, we started talking about writing - she’s a writer, like me, although she possesses a much more prolific writing schedule and has actually entered her shit in competitions before, winning here and there. that’s awesome. i picked her mind a little bit, and although i really wish i remembered the specifics of what exactly we talked about in relation to writing and relationships, i do remember being transfixed by her words. she naturally has a poetic sense about her, like how if you’ve ever looked at Patti Smith you can tell that she is constantly saying shit that nobody has ever said before. listen to Horses if you haven’t. it’s awesome.
i talked with her a little bit more until Lilly eventually walked back in, and i was grateful for it. i was grateful for that entire day. Lilly was a great host, and i think she helped channel the feelings of equal dread and excitement that every senior had that day - and have had for months. everything i know about my life is going to be upended and i get to hang on to the remains. i think that’s why i stayed at that party so long. not just cause i liked the ambience, although i very much did, but the fear of losing a worldly consistency, where my decisions ultimately don’t have to be made by me, is fucking scary. it’s not like i’m starting over entirely, but it is horrifying nonetheless. more importantly, i’m also losing the best parts of that world - the people in it. this party was one of the last ever chances i would get to hang on to that world. Hannah’s off to freezing Wisconsin. Kayden and Lucy are off to San Diego, which is a long ass time from Los Angeles for anyone not from California. for an actually long time, Noah’s moving all the way up to New York, with Lilly close by in New Jersey. there is no more high school work to be done. no more AP tests. no more Mr. Godburn. granted, i still get to keep the scraps. some damn good scraps mind you - i’m still bi, i’m still the biggest Clairo fan i know (sans Lilliana and Mey), and i’m still going to incessantly talk about the Yankees making my day worse. i’m off to Los Angeles - more broadly, Southern California, and more specifically, the University of it. Lily is going to be there too. but i’m still scared. i’m scared of the unknown. i’m an hour away, but that hour is a lifetime for anyone who knows me. i’m at best, a homebody, and at worst, dead if i can’t talk to (and annoy) my mom about the first thing that comes to my mind at random intervals of the day. what am i going to do but try to live life anew while trying to keep everything good i know at the surface? more importantly, if i do commit to that (because i have to), where do i even start?
hi. many of you have no idea what this is. why the background is pink. it’s really mauve. why there’s a highlight of this on my Instagram. or what a “Substack” even is. i’m not going to directly answer those questions. but i do want to share my personal statement - the one i wrote for applying to college, that at least 9 people looked over. the one that helped me get into the reason that many of you follow me when you didn’t know who i was a month ago. and you probably still have little idea who i am. you have no idea that my comfort movie is the first Mission Impossible. you have no idea that i eat fruits and veggies so much that my mom will do the inverse of every parent ever and sometimes force me to eat my actual meal first before i get to my greens. you don’t know that i have a healthy relationship with my ex-girlfriend. we’ll get there. i don’t know these same things about you. and that’s okay. that’s why we’re here.
i don’t want to directly answer your questions because i don’t want to rehash Rowan or the Camryn text message in any more detail than i already have in the past, so i hope this is a good explanation (and a good essay!).
My transition from middle school to high school was difficult. Making new friendships was harder than I hoped, especially considering that most of my friends went to a different high school.
Despite knowing this would happen, I made the decision to attend Calabasas because I trusted my long-held ability to socialize and make friends quickly. However, I remember going to my first pep rally and being overwhelmed. Even though my peers surrounded me, I felt alone. I spoke to my family, therapists, and the few close friends I had about it, but nothing worked. There was a homesickness-sized hole in my heart.
An older friend, Rowan, went through similar issues I experienced and introduced me to a website called Substack. On Substack, you can write articles, post notes, and have general discussions about people who think they’re Patti Smith. It's essentially Twitter for people who are passionate about writing.
On July 5th, 2022, I was feeling especially lonely, so I created an account and wrote my first-ever piece, titled intro intro, while listening to the entirety of Titanic Rising by Weyes Blood. In the span of about two hours, I spilled my heart out onto a mauve-colored background, freely talking about the loneliness that I tried and failed so many times before to convey.
Since then, I’ve posted 28 more Substacks, all on varying topics. Sixteen is about the slow, unending progression of time, and stepping out into the rain is about listening to Steely Dan in the rain. Yet, there is something that connects them all: freedom. I have all the time in the world to put on a song on repeat in my headphones and let my stream of consciousness run wild.
Because of the structural freedom that Substack grants me, a wave of editorial euphoria washes over me whenever I write through it. While writing articles for my school’s online newspaper, The Courier, I’m able to infuse parts of my own voice because of the development of my writing style. Effectively communicating what I want in the way I want has connected me to the people around me because I’m more confident and knowledgeable about myself and my feelings. My favorite piece, a two hour conversation with sophia cooper, helped me reconnect with three people I was close to at different points in my life; through this, I realized how liberating it felt to know myself. The homesickness-sized hole in my heart shrunk to the size of a pea.
There isn’t a day where I abandon having the Substack in my corner as an emotional and creative outlet. I'll take it to college alongside my phone and a small teddy bear named Ewan. I will also take loneliness. Despite the substantial friend base that I have now, there are nights when I don’t think I’m worth it. Now, I’m able to put those thoughts into words. They aren’t structured, and sometimes they’re grammatically incorrect, but they’re mine.
In college, those words will only get better. I’ll fail more, I’ll feel at my loneliest, and I’ll feel more stress and pressure than ever. Yet, I’m eagerly awaiting experiences that I’ll write about and share with people who also love writing. Moreover, I’m ready for entries on kaiassad.substack.com to be the first thing that people think of when they think of me. On March 6th, 2024, I published a piece called god exists in my friends. It is largely about seeing the world’s beauty in the people who see value in me. They believe in me, and that’s more than I could ask for. This piece was specifically inspired by a text my friend Camryn sent me during an AP Lang assignment - “My dearest friend is a poet!!!” This summarizes the role my Substack has in my life. It’s improved my writing abilities and relationships, and from this, I feel more at home every single day.
it was 28 when i submitted that to colleges. including this one, it’s 35 now, and of course i hyperlinked everything here. go read ‘em! but finish this first. i didn’t have the group of people that would kill for me that i do now. although it’s not directly expressed in there (partly because colleges don’t want an essay all about you being a lonely, sad sack of shit, unless that’s just a prelude to improvement), i used This1 to give my emotions space where i didn’t really have otherwise. now, i have people to really do that with, and although we’ve been real close since the start of the year, i think it is partly reason for why there’s only been 4 of these my entire senior year of high school. i called Helena for 2 hours and 30 minutes a week and change ago. unless a situation is unusual but carrying a lot of emotional weight and narrative, or i just wanna yell, i talk to my friends.
but why the essay? i love self-aggrandizing my writing ability as much as the next guy, and i also wanted anyone to be able to read that. i do think it’s a real good essay. but most importantly, i think it’s a good distillation of who i am. half of you know who that person is. and i want the other half to find out.
you wanna know someone that i’m so excited for?
Antonia Udrea is one of my favorite people in the entire world. i see all of the good parts of myself in her - insanely driven, super committed, and very much able to work a room - along with all the good parts that i definitely didn’t and don’t contain - a great problem-solver, insanely ready for applying to college (some of which are Ivies, all of which she is going to get into), and a damn good photographer. above all, she is so lovely. at prom (and its shitty afterparty - to anyone who has not done senior year yet, do not do the afterparty unless your friends secure a hotel and enough booze that would make Tom Sizemore revive himself), i saw both her and Hannah Yasharel, and thinking on it, i really do consider them my sisters from another mother. but in respect to Antonia, i’ve known the girl since 8th grade - her 7th grade, and she has not changed even a little bit. you gotta be both a little psycho and a lot academically driven to take zero period Spanish so that you could also take Leadership.
since i met her, she’s always looked to me for, in some sense, answers on what her next year will be. answers about the future. which i’ve always thought was, in a way, funny, because the levels of preparation that she does for most things run generally higher than what i usually do. Kiva Club is not only still up and running but sprinting and sticking the Bob Beamon jump in large part because of her planning, organizing, dedication, and preparation. on her asking me senior advice? i’ll always find it funny. it’s like Nikola Jokić asking Quincy Acy for advice. cause Quincy Acy could fucking ball, but looking at Jokić play reminds you that humanity has still got some kick in it. on the flip side, though, and in my opinion, the side that (sometimes) makes a lot more sense, she’s a person who i’m confiding in all the time. on April 19th, the day after i unofficially committed to USC (adding it to my Instagram bio) and four whole days before i officially committed to USC (having the 2025 CHS Decisions account post me), i texted her that i committed. she was probably the first person in my life after my mom (who was standing about a foot away from me as i put @uscannenberg in my bio) who knew where i was spending the next four years of my life. i tell her i love her constantly because it’s true. who else would you link a google form survey to your close friends story for?
Antonia is a wonderfully unique person. maybe it’s because i don’t think i know anyone else Romanian. maybe it’s because i look at her with the full pride and admiration that i sometimes don’t look at my own little sister with. cause that girl attacks me sometimes. a 7th grader is by no means a child, but compared to an upcoming senior that’s applying to Princeton? (even though i told her she should apply to Harvard and that she would be the first one in) it is a world of difference. and i get to say that i’ve been there for all of it! i got to watch her manage a bake sale starting at 6 in the morning. i got to watch her go through friend problems like they were the end of the world (which is apparently a canon event for all of my sisters, looking at you Neeka) and come out on top of it, stronger than before. i got to watch her throughout multiple Spanish classes, of which she was sometimes the best part and my saving grace. one time last year, i saw her walking through the senior lot, and i invited her into my car to just sit and talk. if i remember correctly, she had lunch plans but they were canceled. so she came in, and we chatted. we gossiped. we caught up. on June 18th, i shared the account of the 2026 CHS Decisions page, and i questioned to her in equal parts jest and admiration of the fact they had already had a page up. for reference, if i recall correctly, we didn’t have ours up until like, October. i asked her because it was funny, but on a deeper level, i asked her because, when she commits to college, i’ll be over the moon. i’m going to be in those comments spamming congratulatory statements like how she was in mine. it is so rare that you get to see a loved one break out of the cocoon and butterfly it up (although i think she kinda started as a butterfly), that when you have the opportunity to, you cherish it with all your being. i love cherishing Antonia.
if i had the opportunity to rewrite that essay, i wouldn’t make any changes. except for one. one big change. that essay focuses on loneliness. a systematic loneliness. “everyone has friends, and i thought that i would, but i don’t, and so i need to put these emotions somewhere.” looking back on it, that eventually went well. the coin landed on heads. but there’s another systematic loneliness, that, whenever i think about, i get way sadder. because i don’t regret any of my actions - or really, any inaction. because i did everything in my absolute power to ensure that i wasn’t lonely. that i was recognized. the only problem with that, is that when you do something at a school that has never been done before, in a class situation that is still reeling from the death in darkness of our Arts, Media, and Entertainment (AME) program, your impact will likely only be reognized after you leave. it’s the same thing of how an artist’s legacy has two real peaks. when they peak during their working career (think Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock or his “All Along the Watchtower” cover) and in the immediate moments and hours and weeks and months after they die (think Jimi Hendrix, after he, you know, died). the problem is, those two peaks for me have much too little time and distance between them, and so i’m afraid that i’ll never get that after-death, or in my case, after-graduation, peak. i’m afraid that the second one doesn’t exist.
in case you don’t know this about me, i announced at Calabasas High School. i announced sports there. over 40 games. always home games. football, basketball, baseball, girls’ lacrosse, and softball, with two girls’ juniors vs. seniors flag football games thrown in there just cause. over the course of 2 school years and 3 calendar years, i was part of their broadcasting team. me, Colin, Sophia, Grant, Charlie, Hannah, Bereket, Ella, Brady, Delilah, Mr. Bergstrom. it was a beautiful thing. anyone who knew me even a little bit knew that, among other things, i was “the announcer guy.” do you know how beautiful it is to be known for something like that? to be known for something at all? to put so much work into something that people actively recognize it? they recognize the dedication you put into it. they recognize you’re almost a little crazy in the distances you are willing to go to ensure that it goes well. and it went wrong tons of times. but the end product was almost always something i was proud of.
our AME program got cut when i was a sophomore. that was the last year we had it. we had had it for over 20 years up to that point, and to my knowledge, there was never any official statement as to why it got cut. it just did. it functioned like a school within Calabasas - special english teachers, math teachers, science teachers, all for the students who pursued a focus in the creation of on-screen media. and it was a fantastic program. Mr. Godburn was one of the principal teachers in the program, and i remember he once told me that there were so many kids who would’ve been aimlessly progressing through high school with no real goal at the end of tunnel if it weren’t for AME. they’d graduate, and then what? AME gave them a real, specified, light to shine in. imagine i never had The Courier. what in God’s name would i do? it got cut when i was a sophomore, and our current broadcasting system was instituted. Mr. Bergstrom, who mainly worked as the technical director in all those AME years, was now the sole sailor at the large ship that contained kids who either have a passion for film and speaking and being on-camera and editing and sound checking, and kids who just wanted to take an “easy” elective. a ship that was bound to sink, or at least stay just above the waters. because they gutted its entire hull. i never actually took the broadcasting class, which i always get a kick out of telling people. i took that ship hundreds of times without ever needing a map. cause i was just that good.
but i wasn’t ever really recognized. i want to use Devin Aaron as an example. and to preface, nothing i say here is meant in the intent to disrespect or disparage - in fact, i know i’m a dedicated, annoying-even son of a bitch when it comes to announcing and seeing the fruits of my broadcasting labor at large, and even i admit that Devin’s sheer pursuit and passion for what he does is unthinkably inspirational to me.
when you tell someone how Devin Aaron got into Vanderbilt, it makes a lotta sense. like, you don’t question it at all. never in my life have i seen someone so committed to helping and improving the community around them - specifically, the other students around him. i mean, i wrote the article on 5-Star. who the hell talks with old school presidents to figure out a way to improve school spirit? and he genuinely did. incentivization is a wonderful system, but it is so much easier said than done - in fact, i think it’s almost a requirement in being said. but he did it.
but why Devin? well, i use him as the example because the idea of ASB president, class president twice, and overall academic is an understood box that one is placed in. you do that, and you understand, at least as an outsider, the person he is. he is motivated beyond all hell to help out his people. people get that. the district gets that. when you can just open up a spreadsheet that shows what LVUSD’s fiscal year looks like, you get that. and to be fair, that’s a hard fucking box to be placed into, especially at Devin’s pedigree and prolificacy. i can’t do that. but why him?
i was talking with my mom some night a few months ago about why i’m scared. i’m scared for a lot of reasons, many of them college, but i’m also scared about the broadcasting program. i’m scared of my future, but there is an everpresent fear of the things in my past - of the thing that i worked so hard to help build up. i am scared of what will happen it to when i’m gone. because, and i mean this with so much love because i do genuinely love the people that work and live in that class, i don’t think anyone in that class was as driven to see something through (the sports broadcasts in specifics) as i was. i called myself a dedicated, annoying son-of-a-bitch (even though my mom is actually quite lovely) in relation to broadcasting, because, at a point in time, i realized that this was my calling. this was the thing that i wanted to dedicate my life to. even above journalism. and it all started at Calabasas. who was i if i didn’t pursue this thing to the very end of the earth? i told my mom i was scared out of my mind. because i knew that those broadcasts ran through me. not the technical aspects, not by any means, but they needed an announcer. i knew that those broadcasts would be quality because i was putting my life into them. i was clearing my schedule and scheduling my life around those broadcasts. they’re the earliest form of a resume that i have. Mr. Bergstrom has been teaching for so many years and i don’t know if he’s ever had a student up his ass with schedules and corrections and check-ins and text messages the way i was. we did 3 sports like a routine. for 2 years, we did football at home, then basketball at home, then baseball at home. and i feel like i was cut down in my prime. everything, right at the end, was starting to really come together. we developed a sure-fire rhythm, but it came at the very end. we started dancing just as the song started to fade out.
i don’t know how long that song is going to continue.
i know Grant is going to do baseball, and even if he might be a little less ecstatic than me, he knows baseball in and out, much more than i do, and i will be tuning in every time. you should too! but Grant graduates next year - really, this year. he starts his senior year, as do most people in that class, in less than a week. i don’t know what exists for the program past him. past Charlie. i don’t know if they even have someone to do football. i filled out a supplemental application form to be a Sports writer for the Daily Trojan two weeks ago, and they literally said something along the lines of “if you apply to write for football, just know literally everybody is writing/applying to write for football, so be diverse in what you wanna write for/don’t get your hopes up,” and that’s USC’s newspaper! this is a high school broadcasting class with substantially less people and substantially less interested people. my mom told me that although i’m right for worrying about it, it is technically not my problem anymore. and she’s right. i have so much shit to care for and worry about. i’m literally moving into college in 2 days. i started packing my clothes today. but my emotional allegiance - and more importantly, my history - is tied to this place. if i’m ever announcing for the Yankees, i get to look at Calabasas and say “all of this started here.” and that is so eternally fucking beautiful. but i don’t know how much longer it will last. Berg told me that he was gonna retire sooner rather than later. if this ship goes down not even 2 years after its captain graduates, i will be distraught out of my goddamn mind.
i still feel a little lonely. there wasn’t a sports broadcasting division at Calabasas before me. there wasn’t a winner of a sports broadcasting award at Calabasas before me. my mom told me that i felt lonely through all of it because Calabasas didn’t know what to do with me. they have a box to put everyone in. they have a box to put Devin in because there have been class and ASB presidents before him and there will be presidents after him. now, i hope Michael is half as driven as Devin was or those seniors are missing out. granted, it’s always gonna be tough to match those previous standards. i have hope for Michael cause he’s a great guy. my mom told me that Calabasas didn’t have a box for me. that, i had blazed trails that, not only had nobody ever tried to blaze before, but nobody even thought about. and, the broadcasting situation obviously impacted that. but i know that i did all that i could. i know that, if we had another year, i think Calabasas would’ve caught the vibe - the importance. they would’ve kept the fire burning. but i did all i could. and it got me here. i may not have had a box, but the fire inside is still burning.
you wanna know someone i love?
Ava McCaulley is, in a lot of ways, my best friend. i have known the girl for a year, a month, and a week at the original time of writing this. she lives in Florida. her eyes are blue. her favorite song is “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over,” by Jeff Buckley. when i started this, she was reading One For My Enemy by Olivie Blake. she gave it a 4/5, mainly citing the strength of the character building and the utter failure of the worldbuilding. she is now reading The Charm Offensive by Allison Cochrun. she once kissed me on the shoulder, and although i don’t anymore remember the feeling, i still remember the action, fondly. she’s a big Ali Hazelwood fan, and she does not use Goodreads. she was head editor of her high school’s yearbook, and she ran that shit like the Navy. she is going to Florida State University, and i’ve rooted for them for some time now. she can name quite a lot of bodies of water. she knows, word-for-word, the entire Ancient Mesopotamia rap, and she loves when it gets to the chorus and she can yell “EUUUUphrates River.” she is a huge Florida Panthers fan, and i once told Hannah (a large Panthers fan herself) that Hannah was now the second largest reason why i wanted the Panthers to succeed. sorry Hannah. love you lots still. she is Cuban, and i learned the verb extrañarse when i wanted to tell her that i missed her when we were dating. she’s my ex-girlfriend, the one mentioned way up there, but she’s also, in some ways, the most important person in my life.
my family went to Mexico for summer vacation. during it, i texted her probably more than anyone else, and that includes the people i met there. not having Snapchat, and all that. on night 2 of Mexico, just as i’m about to go to sleep, she sends me an image of a cop car near her. she’s in her car, and it’s almost 1 in the morning for her. so, obviously, as you do, i text her until 1:30 her time. she had work that same day starting at 8:00 A.M., and at 8:00 A.M. my time, i woke up. i texted her that i had to go to bed around 11:30 P.M., which was still pretty late after the events of the day, but, also because i could not keep my eyes open. i continued that conversation three times as long than i would with anyone else; obviously because i wanted to make sure she was okay, but even after she started to head home, i kept talking with her because i enjoy talking to her more than anyone else in my life. two days after that, Drake (no relation to the Canadian popstar and certified weirdo) took me and Neeka to this sports bar for the second night in a row. i seriously played pool for maybe (?) the first time ever, and safe to say that i sucked at it. but aside from that, i texted Ava the entire time. she kept me enthused, enjoying myself. i sent her the demo of “Our House” by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young - the demo is much more stripped back with Graham Nash’s and girlfriend-at-the-time Joni Mitchell’s voices taking center stage, being accompanied by only Nash’s piano-playing. the regular CSNY version is great, but Nash’s already-great voice is complemented by the also-incredible and much higher register of Mitchell’s, which gives an incredibly intimate vibe that is not present on the regular CSNY version at all. like a blanket, it is soft but is impossible to ignore once put over you. that song is, in many ways, a comfort song of mine, for all the aforementioned reasons, but also because of the lyrics, which were inspired by a purchased vase and a day Nash spent with Mitchell, and which describe the ways in which life has become much more peaceful for him through all the time that he has spent with Mitchell. Ava and i are currently FaceTiming as this is being written. she moved into FSU yesterday. someone drew a penis on the whiteboard on her door. i sometimes question if God loves giving her batshit insane situations just to see when she’ll crack. everything in it calms me and tells me that there are going to be good moments and times when those moments and times are not what i’m currently experiencing and that is how i feel talking to Ava.
on the plane ride back from Mexico, i stayed up the entire time. not because it was just under 2 hours. not because Alaska Airlines had in-flight entertainment (which, they don’t, so fuck ‘em, and which is how i occupied the flight there, by watching the fantastic The Talented Mr. Ripley, which Zach only gave a 3.5/5, but he’s wrong, so ignore him), but by texting Ava. voice messages (all from her side, cause you know, i was on a plane) out the wazoo. Sabine from Star Wars Rebels, True Fisher-Duddy, gingers wearing green, Minority Report (2002), books. so. many. quotes. from. books! including some from one where a guy progressively gets turned into a shark. i haven’t been a reader in such a long time but i get so interested listening to Ava talk about books that it makes me want to be a reader again. i love hearing her thoughts and the way that she dissects media because 1. she is genuinely so smart, usually smarter than me and 2. the passion in which she reads is almost laughably earnest and sweet. it is such a beautiful thing when you talk to someone for long enough that you know so many of their little quirks and the things that make them tick, because when you first learn about one of their Big things, and you progressively learn more about their Big things, like how that book about a guy progressively turning into a shark made her cry the hardest she has at anything all year (it’s called Shark Heart: A Love Story. go read it! and if you didn’t like it, i’m just the messenger! go yell at Ava), and you get to see pieces of someone reflected in their interests. you not only get to see the things that make them tick, but you get to see each little spring and sprocket inside those things. the colors and saturations and sizes that drape all over someone’s heart.
i met Ava at the The Washington Journalism and Media Conference last summer. if you’re from Virginia and into any form of journalism, you should do it! i maintain a lotta great shit from there, like getting my own press pass for the first time or helping create the chant for Orange group (in which i met the great aforementioned Zach) that they brought back for this year. i met so many cool people and i toured the fuckin’ Capitol Building. if you asked me what the absolute coolest thing i did at WJMC was a week after it happened, i might’ve said getting my AP scores back and freaking the fuck out with Hayes (who i love dearly and am so grateful to have had as a suitemate) over getting 4’s and 5’s between the both of us, or repping The Calabasas Courier at the National Press Building, or spending umpteen hours in an airport, first with Ella, and then with Reese, Samantha, and Christian. maybe i would’ve said the Botanic Garden. cause that shit is gorgeous, and i bought a shirt there that i wear often. but i wouldn’t say any of that now. i would say meeting Ava. i would say meeting Ava is the coolest thing i did at WJMC. i would also say that meeting Ava has irrevocably changed my life for the better, and i don’t ever want to change that again.
we initially broke up on the terms of still being good friends, and although that didn’t initially happen, we reconnected some time a month or two ago. it’s not that she knows deep, dark secrets about me that no one else knows. it’s not that we share a Spotify playlist (although we do). it’s that she will FaceTime me when i’m (surprisingly) at a party, and i will gladly take a seat back from the action to say that, although i can’t call, i absolutely want to know what’s up and happening with her. because that’s what you do with someone you love. for someone that has, for 99% of your time knowing her, been on the opposite side of the country. for someone you were in a relationship that ended messily and your parents still love her now and vice versa with hers. because when you were in Mexico, at the airport, one of the first things you did was look for souvenirs to send to her. because on that plane ride, you told her, “the only reason i’m not asleep is talking to you lol,” and when she responded with “I’m that entertaining??”, you told her, “girl you knock my socks off.” because you answered her FaceTime from last night with “hey, what’s up? i’m writing about you.”
because that’s your best friend.
i want to take all of you back. specifically, to December 20th of last year. that was when, in AP Spanish, with a sub teaching, sitting down at a table with Natalie and Sophie, that i found out i got into Pepperdine via early action. that is when all of this became real. that is when i felt like Pinocchio, wishing to become a real boy.
except i didn’t wish for that at all! i wished to make friends, which i did, and i’m very happy i did. just 2 days ago i went to a party and even if i wallflowered with Lily most of the time, the fact that i had someone to do that with is the important part. i wasn’t just mindlessly grinding Block Blast by myself, i had someone as company! kidding, kidding. the problem is, i’m leaving those people now. and not as a permanent fixture, even if Emma being all the way over in Maine sure as hell does feel like it. but she’ll be back here sooner than i know it. and everyone else is still within a 20 minute vicinity from me. i invited Helena and Bailey out to see Superman 3 weeks ago. had Helena already seen it? yeah. did that matter? not really. and not in the sense of having Helena watch something she’d already watched, but in the sense of me actually making plans. i knew i could, and even if i so rarely ever have, i did.
you know what actually?
you wanna know someone i’m proud of?
i’m proud of me.
i’m proud of myself for getting through 4 years of high school. not like that wasn’t the expectation, but through all of the twists and turns and broken promises and things that never really happened even if i really wanted them to. freshman year, i was hanging out with people and i remember that i didn’t really gel with them as much as i wanted to. late arrivals on already-made bonds, and all that. i don’t remember the person i was freshman year. i don’t know if anyone does beyond Snapchat memories, and we’ve already established i’m no good for that. i don’t know when i decided to leave my hair black. or when i decided to let it start falling in front of my forehead. or when i decided to start wearing Sambas. or when i first saw a movie with Julian. or when i realized that Lucas just actually dresses like that (and that he’s so much cooler for it).
i’m proud of myself for being someone that someone could look up to. i don’t like giving myself credit a lot, and i know that that’s something people say when they have absolutely zero humility, but i promise. i don’t like recognizing the impact i have on things unless it really is inarguable, and i think that i have impacted Calabasas in ways uncountable. and, in other ventures. i know that every person who saw me walk through those broadcasting room doors for 2 years, whether it be people i literally i want to work with in the future (Ella it will happen i promise) or freshmen who have no idea who i am aside from the fact that whenever i entered that room, and Bergy saw me, that conversation would take precedence. i know that i had an impact on Aayaan and Annabelle and Elliot and that when we talked about sports or music or art in general, it had an impact on their day, or even more pertaining to the class, their writing ability. i know that i impacted the fucking administration! maybe not to Devin levels but that’ll always be a pipe dream. i know that Bennett Wutkee is going to remember me. i know that Thomas Cassidy is going to remember me. i know that Dan Stepenosky is going to remember me. that is the Calabasas HS principal, athletic director, and Las Virgenes Unified School District superintendent, and they know and will know me on a first-name basis 5 years from now. who can say that? don’t answer that, because it’s at least a few people. but i can say that no one did it in the way i did. i know that this piece has a 30-minutes-and-counting reading time because this is everything i am - everything my summer, and, at large and life has been so far. everything it represents. everything i was. everything i will do at USC. everything that i will become.
whatever any of that is, i’m proud of how far i’ve come. i’m proud that i’m here. not that i had any doubts (that’s for you, mom). but i’m grateful that i’ve been able to evolve this much and still keep the best parts.
It got real on March 26th of this year. I got accepted to USC as a spring admit. It is one of my fondest memories, and I only found out it was for spring at home. I opened the online admission letter with Devon in the upper Calabasas parking lot. We celebrated and hugged for a whole unbroken minute. I called about 25 people on the drive home. I hope Devon remembers that moment as fondly as I do.
It got real on May 15th. USC’s Dean of Admissions sent me an email saying that they had “filled [their] available spaces for fall 2025 students.” It stung. Although I had kept little, teensy bits of hope since March, that’s when I fully accepted myself as a spring admit. All that talk about the college experience, and I’d be a semester late.
It got real on June 26th. Miraculously, USC’s Office of Admissions sent me an email saying that they “confirmed [my] decision to have [my] admission moved from spring to fall.” I read the email once to make sure I wasn’t batshit insane or suddenly blind, and then I jumped into the living room, screaming with the most pure joy I’ve maybe ever had in my life.
It got real on August 14th, when I officially registered for classes. I am going to be taking classes at my dream school. Everything I’ve ever done, in some way, and in the last 4 years, much more intentionally, got me here. Taking a class about the “culture, vibrance, heritage, mythology, variety, and pathology” of a city I was born in. And it covers a GE!
It got real on August 15th. The Daily Trojan, USC’s official student newspaper, told me that I would be writing for their Arts & Entertainment section. You thought writing for a high school newspaper was cool? Try USC!!!
so that’s me. very much against my wishes, i am now a real boy. but i am more than excited to find out what that entails over the next 4 years with you all. to that half of you, welcome. and to the other half of you, thank you for being here, and welcome back.
“This,” with necessary capitalization, always refers to my Substack.
the additional songs this was created to are “Our House - Demo” by Graham Nash and Joni Mitchell and “First Time” by Lucy Dacus.