The Stanford Saga

After a twenty day hiatus, I am back. This time, it is only a four paragraph bit so fear not. A couple of days ago, I logged on to my facebook to see that someone had shared the Stanford commencement speech by Bill and Melinda Gates and it was on my newsfeed. So I sat and watched it, heard the power couple speak of the power of empathy and ambition. And then I watched bits of the actual commencement itself and the faces of those who had just been awarded their degrees. And then I remembered visiting the campus on a trip to the USA recently, and the sense of awe that filled me as I walked around the place. And then, I wrote.

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As the last notes of the trumpet drifted through the air, as frivolous soap bubbles wafted by, as the fluttering of flag after flag blotted out the midday sun, as camera flashes caught the eye and a stranger’s cap fell at the feet, as announcements were made and not heeded, as speeches were given and grabbed at, as degrees were awarded and congratulations exchanged, a moment came to pass.

The buildings had been witness to a transformation. The corridors had held her hand as she cried. The dorm room had egged her on to try that first dress, experiment with her hair, grow into her own person. The mirrors, shadowed with doubt and insecurity as she first peered into them, cleared to reveal a young woman filled with ambition and desire. Before anyone could say ‘Stanford’, there was a black gown on her and the air was filled with a voice. “May the graduates from the School of Humanities and Sciences please be seated” her dean said. And that was all. It was over.

Many days later, she saw the commencement on YouTube. There she was, sharing a ruckus last laugh with classmates, revelling in those last few minutes of studenthood; that safety net that opened up doors where none were seen, allowing witness to the outside world without the anguish of dirty hands. How many people around the world would see this, she wondered. And how many would think of the stories under those gowns, hidden in the silences between those laughs? How many would know of loans that needed repayment, jobs that needed hunting, dreams that needed fulfilling? How many would guess at the history of a tough home, filled with alcohol and abuse? How many would see the signs of happiness, of belief in fairy godmothers and angels? How many would see past the graduates into the humans?

As the last notes of the trumpet drifted through the air and the last of the flags swept past her, just as the last of the students trooped out into the open to taste newfound adulthood and success, she sent out a silent prayer to the people of the world; to the girl in India wishing her way to Stanford, the boy in the Philippines questioning the tradition of ceremony, at the girl in Kentucky wondering if she is Ivy material and the boy in Venezuela who hadn’t yet been bitten by the dream. “May Imagination inspire you, may Injustice trouble you, may Hope comfort you, may good friends nourish you. May you live your dream.”