In January 2023, during my senior year, I was riding the NYC bus to school on a cold Monday morning. As I scrolled through Instagram, I came across a post from the school's profile. It announced that the list of potential candidates for valedictorian and salutatorian would be revealed that same day at lunchtime. Intrigued by the news, I nevertheless harbored little hope of seeing my name included. I was keenly aware of the intense competition among my peers in Y01 and Y02, the sections of my senior class. Additionally, I recognized that the following five months would be critical in determining the two top candidates.

As a freshman in a foreign nation, receiving a multicultural education, I never saw myself as a competitor for recognition. My school was a mosaic of cultures; as a freshman, I’d found high school akin to opening the door to a world both unfamiliar and exciting, an environment in which a mixture of accents and colors presented each day as an adventure for a young Dominican girl like me. This wasn't because I was competitive, but because it was in my nature to be meticulous and committed to my studies. At that time, the word "valedictorian" didn’t even resonate in my vocabulary. Responsibility had simply always been my loyal friend. Little did I know that my striving would lead me down a path of surprises.

The day of the valedictorian candidate announcement, the first hour of my AP Research class was deafeningly quiet. Everyone was rife with speculation about who the candidates would be. Each conversation, every nervous laugh, and every shared glance orbited around that unexpected bombshell. My friend Reyna, ever the optimist, reassured me confidently, "I know you're going to be on that list."

"Do you think that 98.98% compares to Eunji's grade?" I replied. Despite my friend’s encouraging words, I couldn't help but compare myself to Eunji, one of the top academic students in class Y02, who received frequent compliments for her outstanding performance and constant participation. Although I didn't know her exact GPA, considering her reputation, it was impossible not to imagine it over 100 percent. I was also aware that, although Eunji and I both spoke English as a second language, her proficiency in the language was noticeably superior to mine. Her English was smooth and clear, but the language was still one of my biggest struggles. My insecurities placed shadows on my confidence, and the uncertainty deepened as I thought of the grades of others.

In my heart, though, I was beginning to wonder if, perhaps, I could surprise myself.

My school was a mosaic of cultures; as a freshman, I’d found high school akin to opening the door to a world both unfamiliar and exciting, an environment in which a mixture of accents and colors presented each day as an adventure for a young Dominican girl like me.

When the clock struck twelve o'clock, the anxiety in the air was tangible, and the long-awaited announcement echoed through the dining hall. The murmurs subsided into a tense hush. Reyna and I pushed our way through the mob of students gathered in front of the bulletin board. My eyes quickly scanned the list, expecting to find Eunji's name rather than mine.

"There you are!" Reyna exclaimed excitedly, pointing. I looked again, and to my wonderment, my name was right after Eunji's. I didn't know how to process the flurry of emotions: thrilled and astounded, but also overwhelmed by the responsibility the announcement entailed.

As I contemplated the possibility of becoming class valedictorian, I marveled at how a young woman from the Dominican Republic could distinguish herself in such a diverse and competitive environment. How could I, grappling with stage fright and unfluent in English, represent my school to speak in front of hundreds of people? Fear overtook me every time I tried to visualize myself onstage, forming a knot in my stomach. The thought of ridicule and of stuttering in front of my classmates tormented me.

Throughout the following four months, I found myself caught in a whirlwind of studying and preparation, laden with expectations. Each assignment appeared as a battle to be conquered. Eunji and I remained amiable competitors, but the shadow of doubt and uneasiness persisted. She was consistently one step ahead. I worried if I would ever be able to catch up. Reyna, who stood by me unwaveringly, continually reminded me that my competition was not with Eunji but with myself. "You are your only rival," she exclaimed. "Don’t compare yourself; aim to be the best version of yourself."

May 28 marked a decisive day: the final report card would determine who the school would designate valedictorian and salutatorian. Finally, around noon, a notification rang on my cell phone. It was an email from my counselor titled "Final Decisions." My heart raced as I opened the email.

The words seemed to blur for a moment, but at last, they came into focus: "Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that you have been officially selected as the valedictorian of Multicultural High School." The email brought me a mix of relief, joy, and amazement. Although I’d worked hard for the preceding four months, I’d always suffered from a sense of insecurity, particularly with an opponent as powerful as Eunji. Intriguingly, the email was also addressed to her, indicating she had been chosen as the salutatorian.

My counselor later informed me that the decision had been extremely difficult. Although Eunji and I had similar academic credentials, my consistent dedication to the school community had tipped the scales in my favor. Meanwhile, Eunji had excelled in academic courses, but had not been as engaged in extracurricular activities. As the days passed, I promised to overcome my stage fright by painstakingly preparing my speech in front of the mirror, fighting anxiety, and transforming it into determination. With every word and every pause, I searched for the courage to share my journey.

On June 27th, graduation day dawned. Balloons and ribbons reflecting the school's colors adorned the auditorium. Proud family members and eager friends swiftly filled its seats. With sweaty palms and a racing heart racing, I ascended the stage to a burst of applause. Looking out into the audience, I saw faces from multiple races, and I realized my story mirrored the diversity in the school community. During my speech, I talked about how, despite our cultural and linguistic differences, we were all capable of overcoming any barrier if we work determinedly and stay true to ourselves. I recognized that I had been selected to speak not because I was the most intelligent but because I embodied the values of perseverance, self-improvement, and a passion for learning. My English may not have been perfect and my writing contained errors, but my commitment to education was unwavering.

Receiving the medal and trophy was an honor. Beyond the recognition, I cherished the lessons learned, the friendships forged, and the chance to represent all those who, like me, had found their voice in a place teeming with diversity. The smiles, the applause, and the tears of pride reassured me that I had managed to connect with and inspire others, despite the obstacles. In that moment, with the diploma in hand and my heart brimming with gratitude, I understood that our origins mattered less than our destinations. Each obstacle on the journey has been an opportunity for us all to grow, to demonstrate that neither origin nor mother tongue limits one’s potential. As a Dominican and the valedictorian, I felt a profound sense of gratitude and pride to be part of that beautiful mosaic of cultures.