Commentary

CXXXVI Truths

“Andover helped me find myself,” I heard alumni and trustees say when I was a Freshman. They recalled the stillness of the Merrimack River, the shared all–nighters in Adams, their History 310 papers. They recounted the riveting hallmarks of their Andover careers, the exquisite moment when they knew they belonged at Andover, the shining memories filled with laughter and infinity, et cetera.

Forgive me; I cannot quite remember finding myself at Andover. Truth be told, it’s four years later and I am lost more than ever.

Perhaps this is because I have never been able to be honest at Andover. Honesty wasn’t the goal; honesty at Andover requires the kind of bravery to be absolutely and radically vulnerable. I’m not that brave.

Instead, I created myself based on the traces of other “successful people at Andover” who have come before me, the upperclassmen who claimed seats in Silent Study, who could quote Fyodor Dostoevsky, whose name every teacher knew. As a Freshman who was intimidated by the Club Rally and who was struggling with her 100-level courses, I envied their purpose, relevance, confidence: their conviction in themselves and their future.

I wanted to find a way to validate my worth to seek that Andover success, and _The Phillipian_ became that means. I started jamming all my free periods with interviews, replacing sleep with coffee stains, checking and re-checking quotes under the pretense of taking notes in classes. Receiving my first assignment, seeing my byline on the front page, becoming an Associate News Editor were my little rewards: proofs that I was becoming someone.

I acted accordingly, in ways that I thought were expected of me: eating dinners out of paper cups, speed-walking between Commons and Silent Study and always taking on more than I could handle. To-do lists, reminders, meetings and deadlines dictated my time. I refused to stop: applying to be a Managing Editor was my choice, my commitment to becoming that successful Andover student I envisioned myself to be. It was always about who I would become at Andover, not who I was. It was about whose role I would fill, whose traditions I would continue, whose patterns I would embrace.

I was obsessed with precedents and the glossy stability they seemed to promise. If I could just act a certain way and project a certain image, I thought I could become that perfect character in a perfect narrative of 236 years.

CXXXVI made putting on such a façade impossible. CXXXVI was all about trying new things, challenging the conventions, using technology that I did not understand. I began losing the paper I loved, the paper that made it possible for me to simply hide and play a role. I lost more battles than I can remember, and, to be honest, I was a leader unfit for my board. CXXXVI challenged me to be honest, to let go of using the past to construct my future, to believe that traditions can hold me from moving forward. I wish I could say that I realized all of this sooner, but it wasn’t until I was interviewing people for the next UM positions and hearing the words, “legacy,” “continuation,” “135 years of tradition,” “good run,” that I realized I had spent 14 months trying to merely continue traditions and the legacy. Why wasn’t I more onboard with the changes that my board was trying to incite? Why did I work so hard to organize the annual _Phillipian_ events? By trying to perpetuate the past, I lost myself to the mere rhythm of rinsing and repeating, the relentless exercise of trying instead of becoming. The more fights I got in with my board, the less I was sure of myself and what I was trying to do.

For the past four years, I tried to reflect the kind of success I saw in upperclassmen my Freshman year. The CAMD scholars, the Brace fellows, the Philo presidents, the ASM speakers, the editors — the kind of successes that Andover celebrated and that I quickly aligned my values with. By my Senior year, I gained a false sense of security and confidence that I longed. But these convictions were broken all too easily with the realization that I had been holding my breath since my first article for someone to find out that it was all just an act.

CXXXVI showed me that I could never be selflessly honest at Andover and the kind of success I prided myself on wasn’t what I really wanted.

Andover is on the threshold of becoming something bigger and greater and I urge you to not make the same mistake I made. Andover is more than the Seniors walking down the vista in white dresses and blue ties with diplomas in hand, flashing toothy smiles at the camera, looking all too sure of who they are and what they want in life. This is not a fairy-tale ending to a perfect narrative that so many believe Andover to be. Instead, admire the people who are bold enough to challenge Andover and dare yourself to believe that Andover is capable of changes only if you are willing to be honest.

_Anika Kim is a four-year Senior from Seoul, South Korea, and a Manging Editor for _The Phillipian _Volume CXXXVI._