Remarks by this year’s Student Speaker. Full transcript below.

At a young age, I fell in love with stories. Today, I dedicate this speech to those who remind me why our stories matter—the Class of 2025.

In 2021, when we stepped into the USC Glorya Kaufman School of Dance, someone older offered us their wisdom: “Hold on to these 4 years. They will be gone before you know it.” And so we did. Through masks, Trojan Checks and more spit tests than anyone should ever mention in a graduation speech, we learned how to hold on. We counted hours, minutes and seconds. We danced and danced, and then—we danced some more.

In the in-between, some of us became writers, activists, singers, bakers, photographers, DJs, designers and entrepreneurs. But through it all, we kept showing up for each other. And like we were told, kept holding on.

The part they didn’t tell us, however, is that sometimes the harder you try to hold on, the more it slips away. That there are moments you will be nostalgic for when you’re in them and people you will miss even before they are gone. And that all of a sudden, you will be here. Sitting in a room of all the people you love, a cap and gown to your name, wondering: I held onto my 4 years. So, where did it all go?

The truth is, it didn’t go anywhere. It got woven into the people around you. It lives on in the stories you carry and the ones you helped write. What you will find is that, sometimes to hold someone close, you will break away parts of yourself to make space for them. And in doing so, somewhere along the way, you might’ve come in with your own dreams but will leave with pieces of everyone else’s.

And so, as I stand here now—in our last gratitude cypher together—I say: Today, I am grateful for the pieces of you that you’ve left in me. Today, I am grateful for my memory because I get to remember you forever.

For Rob,

And the home we built together sophomore year that you filled with music, movies and friends.

Janae,

For the journals, the rhyme schemes, the sweet treats and the melodies.

Chelsea,

For Can’t Help Falling in Love—our duet that helped me feel safe in my own body.

Ash,

For the beauty of brilliance and knowledge behind your eyes.

For Lindsay,

And stargazing in Sequoia, when it felt like we were the last people on Earth, and I could lay beside you for years to come.

Jasmine,

For being my first friend. my first home away from home.

Ambar,

For reminding me that every room was built to be danced in.

And Slaterrose,

For filling those rooms with music for all of us to dance to.

Sam,

For your warm bowl of SpaghettiOs, for making me giggle and for becoming the joy of my childhood.

Alex,

For being the pillar that holds our skies up.

Brenan,

For your hugs that made the world feel lighter, softer, warmer and kinder.

For Jonah,

Whose love made me feel so safe that it taught me how to love myself a little more.

Justice,

For being the light that I miss after I have let it go.

Wyatt,

For the squiggly lines we made together as Yellows—truly, you became my other half.

Angel,

For your presence that grounds me and smile that heals me everyday. You are my angel.

Esi,

For pulling our leg over and over, reminding us that it’s never all that serious.

For Summer,

And the many ways she is made up of stardust, sunshine and iced mochas.

Tamar,

For your resilience, for making me laugh and for our woodfire popcorn.

For Onye,

Because you and I are forever and ever and ever.

Sadie Grace,

For the beautiful ways in which you showed up for me when I needed you the most.

For Xavier,

And your art that always feels like a return to home. I carry it deep within my soul.

Leeann,

For your heart of gold that shines its warmth into our cohort.

And Shea,

For becoming my everything. Like Bing Bong promised, for taking me to the moon.

My beautiful, loving, caring, sloppy, diverse, temperamental family. Thank you, Class of ’25, for growing up with me. For now, this is where we go our separate ways. But if not in this life, then in the next—when the world is softer, stranger or slower—I hope our paths will cross again.

Until then, promise me that beyond these four walls, past the campus gates, you will wake up each day and fall in love with your art all over again. That you will find sunlight in ordinary places, and fill your days with reasons that make you smile. That you will write your name into the world gently, but without apology. And every once in a while, when the world asks too much of you, you will remember to slow down. In that stillness, I hope you’ll look back on our breakfasts in the Village dining hall, FreshSesh, sunsets on Manhattan Beach, cyphers anywhere and everywhere, lines at Dulce, mirror selfies on the first day of classes and punking the space. But most of all, I hope you’ll look back on this exact moment and remind yourself how much you matter to the people sitting next to you today. You did then. You will, always.

So, here I begin again:

At a young age, I fell in love with stories. Today, I am grateful that you were written into mine. I love you forever, Class of 2025.

Happy Graduation!