Between the Bells and the BS

If you asked me to describe high school in one word, I’d probably say “exhausting.” Not just because of the assignments, early mornings, or tests, although those definitely didn’t help, but because of everything in between. The pressure, the politics, the fake smiles, the forced smiles. The BS, basically.

Let’s not sugarcoat it: I didn’t love this school. In fact, most days I barely tolerated it. It felt like we were numbers, not names — GPAs and test scores on a spreadsheet rather than real people with real lives. Our administration was often more concerned with image than with students. More talk about rules and rankings than about mental health or support. More performative pep talks than actual understanding.  

And then there’s the “competitive culture” at Rosemead that felt like a constant game of who’s more burned out while pretending not to be. There were people who came off as kind, thoughtful, maybe even genuine. But over time, I realized many of them were just wearing masks. Behind the compliments and smiles was this constant pressure to compete for who had the best grades, the busiest schedules, the most college acceptances, the most “perfect” life. It didn’t feel like a connection. It felt like survival in a popularity contest no one wanted to admit we were playing.

High school can be a lonely place when you realize how many friendships are built on convenience and comparison. That kind of environment wears you down. It makes you question yourself. It makes you wonder if you’re doing enough, being enough, or if you’re just falling behind in a game you didn’t even sign up for.

But it wasn’t all fake. There were bright spots, and they mattered. I was lucky enough to have some amazing teachers and an amazing counselor. The kind who saw me, not just my grades. The ones that actually gave a damn and who asked how I was really doing. The ones who let us learn like humans and not just test-takers. I am endlessly thankful for Mr. Espinoza, Mrs. Goldsmith, and Mrs. Rod. You were the reason I didn’t give up on everything.

I also had AVID. My safe space. My people. That class felt like we could actually breathe, be ourselves, and support each other instead of constantly competing. AVID reminded me that school doesn’t always have to feel like survival. It can feel like a community. I made real friends there, the kind that stayed when things got hard. The kind that made me laugh even when everything else sucked.

So here’s what I’ll say to the underclassmen still stuck in the middle of all this:

Do your best — your best. Not what someone else expects of you. Not what looks best on paper. And don’t break yourself trying to meet the standards of people who wouldn’t even notice if you disappeared. Take care of yourself. Don’t grind yourself into dust trying to “stand out.” Work hard, of course, but don’t forget to live. Don’t forget to find your people. Forget the fake friendships. Find the ones that show up, stay consistent, and make you feel safe. And trust me, that’s more valuable than any college acceptance or class rank.

Between the bells and the BS, there were still moments that made it all a little bit worth it. I’m glad I had those. I’m glad I’m done. And I’m proud of the person I’ve become — not in spite of this place, but because I survived it.