(no subject)
May. 2nd, 2006 05:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
laleiaSo, I unfortunately am not one of the Commencement Speaker Finalists, and I refuse to be a sore loser about it, but will instead post my would-be Commencement Speech here. I would have posted it on my xanga, but the only not-having-a-cut thing really bothers me, because I know I find it annoying when I scroll down three five pages of meaningless words on my subscriptions page all because one person felt the need to fill out a 500-question survey.
When I first embarked on my quest to write the perfect Commencement Speech, I had no clue what exactly a Commencement Speech was about. The name was certainly no help. Commencement. To commence means “to begin,” so was I to talk about the college lives we were beginning? Should I wax poetic in regards to the places we would go and the things we would do and the people with unusual habits we would probably end up unfortunately rooming with? Maybe I should go on about the experiences we were soon to undergo, the new lives we were to lead, the firsts we would encounter: First bills, first time paying taxes (for some of us), first time away from home for some, first time doing laundry for others. We’re all going off to do something that we haven’t ever done before. But really, you all know that. So I don’t see why I need to go into further detail about it. Perhaps I should describe some overly sentimental, completely hypothetical situation twenty years from now where we will all have achieved something with our lives? Something inspiring and heart-moving and not within my capabilities?
But my friends tell me that the Commencement Speech should be about a really good memory from high school. In the words of one, my speech should be so emotional that someone listening should think, “Oh, I remember that. Tear.” Well, maybe those weren’t her exact words. So I thought long and hard for a good memory of high school. And didn’t really come up with one. I mean, you have to admit that it’s a hard task. You cannot deny that some of your fonder memories of high school were when the bell rang and school was out. And I also didn’t want to share a long-winded story about the time so-and-so and I met up with such-and-such and and did this and that, there. So out the window went the happy-memory idea. I mean, I won’t deny that we’ve had happy memories, but the truly happy ones? Those are the ones I don’t need to bring up because they’re still fresh in your mind and will remain fresh in your mind until you go senile and the memories reach their expiration date and you have to throw them away.
So then I was going to talk about how stressful and expensive senior year was, and how many things we had to do to prepare ourselves for the lives ahead of us, how scary our lives would be, how many responsibilities we would have ... until I was gently reminded that this speech was supposed to be cheerful and theoretically inspiring (although I don’t think much inspiring has taken place in the, oh, two minutes or so that I’ve been talking).
So instead, I think I shall stop stalling and try actually saying something with substance. In other words, I shall now introduce a metaphor so cheesy I actually used it in a college essay.
So most of you know that I love to read. Most of you have probably seen me at some point or other reading in the busy hallways of our school, reading and walking (which is a masterful skill, if you ask me) and making better headway than you because everyone makes way for a girl with a book ... who doesn’t hesitate to “accidentally” bump into people who are moving too slowly. But I digress. My story actually begins with a college essay (my life seems to have been dominated by college essays this year). I had just written a whole paragraph that really said nothing, and I noted with dread that I had used the phrase “my life” five times in the last three lines. So, I used that handy-dandy groundbreakingly new, ever-popular, highly-addictive means of communication known as Instant Messaging to inquire of a friend what a possible synonym for “my life” could be. “My life in the future sense,” I requested. “A book,” was his most facetious reply. “A book not yet written.”
Now, he was making fun of me because he thought I read too much, and I immediately let him know how funny I thought he was. But I thought about it, and it made sense, and I wrote a college essay about it. And now I’m giving a speech about it.
A book not yet written. That would be us. Well, maybe not you. Perhaps you have already begun achieving all you want in life. I know I certainly haven’t. High school has been the prologue in the biography of my life. Maybe part of the first chapter. It would go something like this: “Angela was born. In the early years of her life, she tried to give a humorous Commencement Speech and failed miserably.” To be continued. The rest of the pages are blank, waiting for me to say something, do something, make something, fill up those pages with size-12 Times New Roman font (or smaller font, depending on how cheap my publisher is). They’re just ... waiting.
Because it’s not time for The End yet. Not even close. I don’t know about you, but I have plans and goals, dreams and wishes. I want to learn five different languages and travel to twenty different countries. I want to learn how to play the harp and how to ride a motorcycle. I want to learn how to pick locks and make lots of money. I want to be President of the United States and make a difference, not necessarily at the same time. I want to go skydiving and scuba-diving. I want to learn how to throw a punch correctly and make good, homemade ice cream. I want to read a book a day for a whole year.
Now you and I both know that I probably won’t even accomplish half of that. But they’re there, and they’re possible. How much I accomplish, that all lies in the future.
For now, my book is mostly blank. But I assure you that in twenty years, even if I have nothing to report at the earlier-mentioned, overly-sentimental, completely hypothetical reunion, even if I have not accomplished anything significant, my book will have been filled, will have more written. I will have done smart things and stupid things, made deadlines and missed them.
My life is a book not yet written. It has been prefaced, and all of the pages have been numbered. It merely awaits the words that will fill it.
What will you write in your book?
When I first embarked on my quest to write the perfect Commencement Speech, I had no clue what exactly a Commencement Speech was about. The name was certainly no help. Commencement. To commence means “to begin,” so was I to talk about the college lives we were beginning? Should I wax poetic in regards to the places we would go and the things we would do and the people with unusual habits we would probably end up unfortunately rooming with? Maybe I should go on about the experiences we were soon to undergo, the new lives we were to lead, the firsts we would encounter: First bills, first time paying taxes (for some of us), first time away from home for some, first time doing laundry for others. We’re all going off to do something that we haven’t ever done before. But really, you all know that. So I don’t see why I need to go into further detail about it. Perhaps I should describe some overly sentimental, completely hypothetical situation twenty years from now where we will all have achieved something with our lives? Something inspiring and heart-moving and not within my capabilities?
But my friends tell me that the Commencement Speech should be about a really good memory from high school. In the words of one, my speech should be so emotional that someone listening should think, “Oh, I remember that. Tear.” Well, maybe those weren’t her exact words. So I thought long and hard for a good memory of high school. And didn’t really come up with one. I mean, you have to admit that it’s a hard task. You cannot deny that some of your fonder memories of high school were when the bell rang and school was out. And I also didn’t want to share a long-winded story about the time so-and-so and I met up with such-and-such and and did this and that, there. So out the window went the happy-memory idea. I mean, I won’t deny that we’ve had happy memories, but the truly happy ones? Those are the ones I don’t need to bring up because they’re still fresh in your mind and will remain fresh in your mind until you go senile and the memories reach their expiration date and you have to throw them away.
So then I was going to talk about how stressful and expensive senior year was, and how many things we had to do to prepare ourselves for the lives ahead of us, how scary our lives would be, how many responsibilities we would have ... until I was gently reminded that this speech was supposed to be cheerful and theoretically inspiring (although I don’t think much inspiring has taken place in the, oh, two minutes or so that I’ve been talking).
So instead, I think I shall stop stalling and try actually saying something with substance. In other words, I shall now introduce a metaphor so cheesy I actually used it in a college essay.
So most of you know that I love to read. Most of you have probably seen me at some point or other reading in the busy hallways of our school, reading and walking (which is a masterful skill, if you ask me) and making better headway than you because everyone makes way for a girl with a book ... who doesn’t hesitate to “accidentally” bump into people who are moving too slowly. But I digress. My story actually begins with a college essay (my life seems to have been dominated by college essays this year). I had just written a whole paragraph that really said nothing, and I noted with dread that I had used the phrase “my life” five times in the last three lines. So, I used that handy-dandy groundbreakingly new, ever-popular, highly-addictive means of communication known as Instant Messaging to inquire of a friend what a possible synonym for “my life” could be. “My life in the future sense,” I requested. “A book,” was his most facetious reply. “A book not yet written.”
Now, he was making fun of me because he thought I read too much, and I immediately let him know how funny I thought he was. But I thought about it, and it made sense, and I wrote a college essay about it. And now I’m giving a speech about it.
A book not yet written. That would be us. Well, maybe not you. Perhaps you have already begun achieving all you want in life. I know I certainly haven’t. High school has been the prologue in the biography of my life. Maybe part of the first chapter. It would go something like this: “Angela was born. In the early years of her life, she tried to give a humorous Commencement Speech and failed miserably.” To be continued. The rest of the pages are blank, waiting for me to say something, do something, make something, fill up those pages with size-12 Times New Roman font (or smaller font, depending on how cheap my publisher is). They’re just ... waiting.
Because it’s not time for The End yet. Not even close. I don’t know about you, but I have plans and goals, dreams and wishes. I want to learn five different languages and travel to twenty different countries. I want to learn how to play the harp and how to ride a motorcycle. I want to learn how to pick locks and make lots of money. I want to be President of the United States and make a difference, not necessarily at the same time. I want to go skydiving and scuba-diving. I want to learn how to throw a punch correctly and make good, homemade ice cream. I want to read a book a day for a whole year.
Now you and I both know that I probably won’t even accomplish half of that. But they’re there, and they’re possible. How much I accomplish, that all lies in the future.
For now, my book is mostly blank. But I assure you that in twenty years, even if I have nothing to report at the earlier-mentioned, overly-sentimental, completely hypothetical reunion, even if I have not accomplished anything significant, my book will have been filled, will have more written. I will have done smart things and stupid things, made deadlines and missed them.
My life is a book not yet written. It has been prefaced, and all of the pages have been numbered. It merely awaits the words that will fill it.
What will you write in your book?
