Graduation, glitter, and control
Getting myself elected to ensure quality, music, and magic—and the dress that looked like stars.
There’s a myth that teenage girls are out of control.
I would like to offer my 1998 graduation as Exhibit A:
we’re only out of control when someone else is in charge.
In my final year of high school, I made sure I was elected to the student board that would organize our graduation ceremony.
Truth is, I didn’t even have to fight for it. Most people saw it as extra work.
I saw it as the only way to make sure things would be done right.
Also, my name helped.
My mom was a celebrated kindergarten teacher.
My dad, a feared high school history teacher with a legendary stare.
I had a reputation for speaking up, trusted I could run things.
And they were right.
The ceremony had two parts: first, a mass for the graduates.
Then the diploma delivery in the only event hall that hosted anything formal.
I had a say in both.
I needed the music to be perfect.
I needed candles, not balloons.
I needed angels on the invitations.
I needed something different.
And I needed, with every poetic fiber of my being, for Enya to be part of it.
The priest wasn’t thrilled about that.
He didn’t know what she was saying in her songs.
What if it was profanity?
I offered him Storms in Africa.
No lyrics, just sound and sky.
Still, he hesitated.
So I called for backup: my grandmother.
A devoted parishioner, the woman who sometimes hosted him for chicken dinner on Sundays.
She worked her Sunday magic.
He said yes.
I played it cool, but inside I was ecstatic.
By the time we reached the diploma ceremony, I was already glowing, and I still had my speech to give.
As the valedictorian (oradora), I had prepared something I believed in: a speech about how we get to reach for what we want and go get it.
I wore a black dress with a silver shimmer, like a starry sky.
My braces were still on.
My hair was doing its best.
And yes, Enya played.
More than once.
When I reached the podium for my speech, I ended with words that felt like everything I believed:
'Remember, there are not only stars out there, there are galaxies.'
The programs were hand-folded, the candles flickered, and the music filled the room just as I imagined.
That night, I didn’t just graduate.
I pulled something off.
And maybe no one else noticed how carefully it had all been planned,
but I did.
And that was enough.
People say control is about ego.
But sometimes, it’s just another word for care.
✶ This essay is part of From the Beginning, a personal series built from my diaries—one memory at a time. You’re reading 1998. Each piece revisits the girl I was, the world I came from, and the details I didn’t know I was already saving.
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This is everything!