The Student

A student's environment consists of many things. The essentials include the classroom, their desk, and their pencil.

The Classroom

The classroom walls contain limited access to parts of the world, usually following the one discipline taught by their teacher, their parents. Their environment defining who they are also means that slight changes could create divergent perspectives. Different lighting glimmering off the papers creates shades of light across the sentences filling a page. A small configuration of this lighting can change how they process information. Maps and flags around the room display the cultures of the world, many of which these students trapped in the classroom will never experience. Being born into these confined walls led me to a singular path that was supposedly destined and being given a limited amount of resources and freedom of thought debilitated my capacity to take advantage of any opportunities I received. My parents were both immigrants who had worked hard to get me into this class. Though I recognized their effort, the classroom I was living in had been filled with memories of guilt, and shame. Sorrow imbued the class as my teachers knew they had made mistakes and allowed them to seep into their students. My mother, a businesswoman, turned to money as an escape from the truth of her first son, hoping to improve our "grades" by focusing on teaching resilience and work ethics. My father, well aware he could not provide as sufficiently as my mother, decided to teach kindness and love. Though this might seem like a great mixture of lessons, the curriculum was thrown off quite a bit when my father became an alcoholic. My mother and father had begun a business following their careers as ice cream truck drivers. Shortly after, they had a divorce after a 2-year long marriage full of supposed leisure, until I recently found out my father had been abusive. In a way, the real classroom was simultaneously the student's escape and their prison. This new classroom of mine consisted of constant distractions. Conversations with friends about their new dog. Gatherings around students with a cast. Math questions on a sheet. English letters are arranged into words, and words to essays—theoretical equations and situations hiding the truth past the classroom door. Deciding to hide away had both kept me on track while living within a lie.

The Desk

A student's desk allows them to execute all of which they do. Filled with sketches from previous students I can see how history has passed. Traces of initials within a heart show students previously in love, perhaps still together. Along with exhibiting the past, the desk granted students the power to free their minds. Although limited to the classroom they were born into, students are allowed a foundation to construct their ideas. Though this desk may be slightly worn out, it shows the effort that was exempted by previous "students". Some of these students have been mentioned in many stories, while others remain lost in the timeline of the class. Never learning what my true past contained had left me confused. Picking up pieces of the puzzle I could only retrieve from my parent's anecdotes while we drove for groceries. Despite this, I continued to ask, learning more about my culture and who my parents were as young adults. Contradicting stories between them always led me to believe what I wanted to be true, despite its credibility. This desk that had been handed down to me had too many aspects to trace, so I made my own. Eraser marks filled the desk as I tried to create my own identity despite what my parents believed. Religious markings disappeared as I wanted to continue my journey of faith through curiosity and solid arguments of any existing God. Homophobic remarks were ignored as I encouraged myself to become comfortable with my own identity. My parents had given me the desk I needed, not the one I wanted. However, I decided to decorate my foundation with the values constructed throughout my life.

The Paper

The student is given a purpose, to complete their assignments. My assignments had usually been to abide by the expected actions of my parents, particularly my mother. These assignments often bored me, turning my head towards real classroom assignments, ones that handed me a letter grade. Having proof of my accomplishments made me feel significant. The language barrier between my family and me had pushed me to feel unrecognized. Telling my parents about awards, scores, and concepts I could learn but never convey in Spanish. Whenever I decided to fulfill my supposed "true purpose" as a son, I felt unrewarded. I decided to focus on actions which I could be recognized for. As life moved on, I realized this was the same mindset my mother had taught me by observation, despite her constant condemnation of the habit. This realization had brought me to figure out what unconditional love was. Fulfilling small pieces of my mother's role had taught me empathy, opening my eyes to how hard she truly worked. Visual Venn diagrams of her days with and without my help showed the difference I could make. I began to see the significance I hold in all sectors of my life. The A's show my brain's capability to learn concepts; The hugs display the space in my heart to open up to others.

Somewhere throughout this lifetime of lessons I was taught that I know nothing. My father constantly said the exact phrase "I know nothing" ironically whenever he was wrong, telling us it was okay to make mistakes. Out there in the world of which I am yet to be dumped into is an answer that is simultaneously non-existent. Maybe there isn't any. Infinite lessons to be learned from an interminable amount of teachers and assignments.

The Pencil

The execution of a student's ideas mattered most. Why would it matter if they knew that they should respect their elders if they could not put these ideas into action? Constantly saying the words "I know" had led me to the previous conclusion, that I do not know. Nodding my head every time I was explained the same lesson over and over did not in any way confirm my understanding of the concept's application to the real world. My pencil was unsharpened, constantly dull. Regardless, I kept writing with the same pencil, sharpening the tip over and over. My actions began to become articulated as I did my homework. I began to express my thoughts through writing and especially math. Math educated me to believe. If a student were to not believe in math, the discipline becomes negligible. In the same manner, I now believe in my own values, believing there is a purpose to life. My search for this answer will be displayed in essays, research papers, and most importantly, projects. I will continue to use my pencil of thoughts to guide me to my answer. These pencils will eventually run out of lead, which is no worry as the same designs could be shown with different pencils, as the student's use of it is the determinant of their future. My role as the student is endless, with the world as my teacher.