Well, we made it! Last (real) blog of the year! 

I have a love-hate relationship with these blogs, largely because I am just not a great blogger. I always forget about the blog assignment until the Thursday that it’s due, and then the stress starts to set in. For me, writing a blog is a Mission Impossible-esque race against the clock to click “Submit” before my computer reads 12:00 AM, and I have to admit — I really, really enjoyed it. Part of me is going to miss writing these posts. 

With that being said, it’s time for the last (real) blog of the year. I never gave much thought to it, but last week, I realized just how obsessed I am with watching scam shows and movies. 

I don’t know what it is, but something about a good con really excites me. These scammers aren’t mere criminals — any idiot can try to steal something. They’re geniuses who know they can get away with it. They’re thrill-seekers who aren’t into the crime because it’s lucrative, but because it’s fun. They’re antiheroes that you know you shouldn’t be cheering for but are cheering for anyway. 

While I had always been a fan of this type of entertainment — my family and I watched The Dropout, Inventing Anna, Dopesick, I Care a Lot, Red Notice, Oceans 11, The Eyes of Tammy Faye, and more together — I never consciously realized the throughline between these shows until last Thursday, as I was watching Catch Me If You Can on a plane. While I was initially unsure about it because of how old it was, I soon found myself engrossed in a world of intrigue, cunning, and excitement. 

For those unfamiliar with the movie, Catch Me If You Can is based off the true story of Frank Abagnale Jr., a teenager who runs away from home. Having seen his con-artist father play tricks on people, Frank starts going up to bank tellers and asking to cash checks. Soon, he starts impersonating a pilot for Pan Am Airlines and forging payroll checks at banks across the country. Chasing him is FBI agent Carl Hanratty, a by-the-books officer who’s eager to catch a criminal. As Hanratty gets closer and closer, Frank turns to scam after scam, faking being a doctor, a lawyer, and, at one point, a Secret Service agent. Over the course of years, Frank scams banks out of millions of dollars and leads the FBI on a wild goose chase across the US. I won’t spoil the ending, but I highly recommend watching it. 

When we got off the plane, I couldn’t stop talking about the movie. I quickly went to the Wikipedia page, devouring information about the Abagnale from real life. Apparently, the autobiography that Abagnale wrote (which inspired the movie) was even proven to contain lies; in other words, even the book that Abagnale wrote about his scams was a scam! But then, I started to wonder why I enjoyed the movie so much. Why do I like watching innocent people get conned out of their money? Why do I consume so many of these scam shows? 

After thinking about it for a while, I realized that I like them personally because scam-artists are the polar opposites of me. I can’t lie for the life of me — whenever I try to trick someone, I end up futilely suppressing a smile. I also don’t have the confidence that some of these scam artists do — if I tried to pretend to be a pilot, I’d either chicken out or walk out of the airport in handcuffs. I simply do not have the skillset that scammers do. 

But I’m not the only one who enjoys cons — millions of others love watching shows like these. Take Inventing Anna. According to Netflix, viewers around the world watched over 511,920,000 hours of the show. Clearly, there’s some sort of psychological basis for this. 

After looking into it, I learned that experts believe that we enjoy watching cons because we think that they are excusable. Unlike murder, which is unequivocally wrong, watching shows about scammers seems easier, as we feel that we “have permission [to enjoy] because [we] don’t think of it as violent crime.” After all, being conned out of your money seems to be the victims’ fault. And so, we don’t need to feel bad for the victims; instead, we can marvel at the criminals. 

Whatever the reason, I know that I’m enamored by these crime shows, and I know that I’m not the only one. Now that I’ve checked this blog off my list, I’m looking forward to spending the rest of the night curled up on the couch. Maybe I’ll turn on Madoff on Netflix.

On my phone, I have the same apps that every high schooler has — Instagram, Snapchat, BeReal, Messages, etc. I have the New York Times Crosswords app for when my friends race to complete the Mini, and I will admit that I have the Infinite Campus app (I got it freshman year because I thought that if my parents are going to get a grade notification, I should at least be prepared for it). But, unlike all of my friends’ phones, mine has a ton of incredibly stupid, mindnumbing apps. 

It all started during the pandemic. We were at home, I was bored, and I often found myself scrolling through my phone. Suddenly, I stumbled across a game that I hadn’t played for eight years — Subway Surfers. 

• Sidenote: For those of you who aren’t familiar with Subway Surfers, the game features a protagonist on the run from the police, and your job is to jump over/duck under obstacles, avoid trains, and stay away from the cops. Along the way, you can collect coins, which you can use to unlock new characters and outfits. It’s a game that requires zero thinking, but it’s fun. 

I opened the game and clicked “Tap to Play,” and, soon, Jake started running through the streets of Paris. As I swiped across the screen, rapidly jumping from train to train, I found myself engrossed. After crashing into a train or being caught by a police officer, I quickly started a new game, eager to continue playing. Soon, I found myself turning my brain off and playing Subway Surfers for hours every day (I kid you not). While I should have been paying attention to Mr. DeNio’s Honors Bio Zoom, I was actually surfing through Buenos Aires; when I was in Mr. Kim’s Honors Precalc class, I was actually running through Zurich. When I would watch TV from the couch, my phone would be in my hand as I simultaneously watched the show and swiped my thumb to avoid incoming trains.

Soon, though, Subway Surfers was getting too boring — I was simply too good for the game. My Subway Surfers runs would last over half an hour, my scores would be in the millions, and the game was losing its hold on me. So, I started playing my own invented game — I would try to go as long as I could without collecting a single coin. This was a very difficult task (coins are sometimes impossible to avoid). I became an expert, learning how to time the jumps such that I avoided the coins and taking advantage of a glitch in the game to get through seemingly impossible situations. I found myself captivated again.

But one week, when I received my “Screen Time Report” on a Sunday, I learned that I had played over 22 hours of Subway Surfers in a week. Imagine that — 22 HOURS of Subway Surfers. I spent nearly 20% of my waking hours on this dumb, useless app. Embarrassed and ashamed, I quickly deleted the app, hoping to quit my Subway Surfers addiction cold turkey.

But soon, there was a void in my life. Without my Subway Surfers fix, I felt untethered, felt lost. I needed a new escape. 

Enter Flippy Race. A high-speed aquatic adventure, the app puts you in control of a jet ski, and you have to swipe the screen to flip, turn, and maneuver your jet ski around 24 bots to get to the finish line. Once again, I found myself captivated. I could turn my brain off and speed through the racecourse without a care in the world, and I quickly made my way to level 403. Flippy Race, though, is one of those games that often has ads, so I spent a ton of time watching commercials for other dumb, brainless games. And thus began my addiction to Stickman Hook.

After watching an ad on Flippy Race, I clicked the link, went to the App Store, and downloaded Stickman Hook. The premise is simple: tap the screen to grapple onto a hook, and let go to move forward. I feel pathetic as I write this, but the game is legitimately engrossing. I can’t stop myself from playing it, which may be why I’m on level 3573 (I’m not joking; I have a problem). Something about these pointless, asinine games entrances me. 

As I sit down and reflect on my clear addiction to mind-numbing games, I’m starting to realize why. Life is stressful — whether it’s schoolwork, family, or a life-threatening pandemic, we are constantly worrying about things. We’re constantly preoccupied, constantly thinking. And so, these apps are my way of coping with that stress. These apps are my way to turn my brain off, to find peace in a turbulent world. It’s a way for me to keep myself busy, a way for me to unwind. 

And so, if you look at my phone, don’t be surprised if I’m riding the waves in a jet ski or jumping from hook to hook. It’s just my way to escape.

Last week, I had to leave early from class on Thursday to go to a state competition (that’s why I left my There There presentation midway through!). 

Even though it made absolutely no sense to me why we had to stay for three days at the Oak Brook DoubleTree (only 18 minutes away from my house) when our competitions only lasted two hours, I was forced to stay at the hotel for a while. I was glad, however, that my friends were there with me. 

Though curfew was technically at 11:30 at night, we didn’t exactly abide by the regulations. Rather, my friends and I discovered a show that is perhaps the greatest testament to human strength, sheer determination, and the power of performance-enhancing drugs: Physical 100. 

At home, I had seen advertisements for the Korean game show on Netflix many times, but the barrier of having to watch in Korean and a general unfamiliarity with what the show was about always prevented me from clicking “Watch.” However, being stuck without anything to do makes you turn to activities that you wouldn’t otherwise consider. And that’s how I found myself watching jacked shirtless Korean men and women wrestle each other over a ball on my friend’s Mac at 1 am.

Let me back up — I should probably explain the premise of the show. 

The show creators gathered the one hundred most physically fit people in Korea — Olympians, wrestlers, CrossFit trainers, UDT officers (the Korean equivalent of Navy SEALs), MMA fighters, the arm-wrestling champion of the world, cheerleaders, etc. — and put them together in a single competition. The goal, according to the show’s creators, is to find the greatest human physique by subjecting the competitors to physical challenges. As competitors lose, the 100 will be cut down to 50, the 50 to 25 (later, 5 were allowed to redeem themselves and rejoin the competition), and ultimately, a champion will be crowned. 

The first episode, I’ll admit, was strange. One by one, the competitors walked into a huge gallery, featuring one hundred casts of torsos on pedestals (yes, you read that right). Apparently, before the competition, every competitor had their torsos made in plaster, such that everyone had their own statue. As the competitors entered the room, they all eagerly greeted each other, chiming “Anyong haseyo” excitedly. But then, the physical challenges began. 

It started with an arm hang. The idea was simple — grab onto this structure, don’t let go. The winner is the last man/woman standing. While this task is simple in theory, as contestants grabbed onto the contraption for dear life, exhausting all of their muscles and making anguished faces, I could see the ingenuity of this torture device. For over fifteen minutes, the competitors held on, one by one dropping into the water below, until the winner was left. 

Later, using the results from the arm hang, the contestants were seeded before the next quest. The show’s creators then announced the next challenge: a deathmatch. The competitors were paired off, and a ball was placed in the middle of the arena. A three minute timer was projected on a big screen; the winner was wherever possessed the ball at the end. As the contestants wrestled each other for the ball, my friends and I excitedly screamed at the Mac, cheering on the underdog as he/she wrestled a behemoth. 

For the entire night, we watched Physical 100, watching gargantuan men and women with bulging biceps beat up on each other. Until our eyes felt heavy, we yelled at the computer, practiced our Korean (my “Anyong haseyo” was deemed “passable” by Soohyun), and had pillow fights to replicate the wrestling in the show. 

Watching Physical 100 was an incredible experience for me. For one, watching Physical 100 was fun — the premise was unique, the competition was enthralling, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. I even hooked my cousins on the show. 

At the same time, it helped me appreciate international art forms, breaking what Bong Joon Ho (the director of Parasite) called the “The 1-inch-tall barrier of subtitles.” As an American audience, it’s easy to look down on or ignore movies and shows created by non-American artists, to only want to watch films in English; however, to do so is to sacrifice a potentially enlightening (or just fun) experience. Physical 100 was an exercise in patience, an exercise in empathy, and I was glad that I went through it.

On Saturday, when our hotel stay was over, I was sad to be leaving. However, I was equally excited for April, when we’re going to Anaheim for five days straight. Given that we still have four episodes to go, I’m excited to finish the show and find out the winner.

“An Irish Airman foresees his Death”
William Butler Yeats

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

 

The first time I read this poem, I didn’t think it was difficult enough. The structure was basic, the words weren’t particularly grandiose, and the plot seemed pretty straightforward. I’ll be honest, I looked at other poems after this one. “An Irish Airman foresees his Death” seemed too simple to meet the assignment’s criteria. 

And yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about this poem, wondering if I missed something, wondering if there was something there that I didn’t yet see. So, I went back to it. 

After reading, rereading, and re-rereading this poem, I can now definitively say that “An Irish Airman foresees his Death” is difficult. However, it’s difficult in a way that I haven’t seen before. While the poems that we’ve read so far have been difficult because of their structure (Cummings), language (Donne), or sound devices (Lee), this poem was difficult because of its complexity and layered meanings. When writing the poem, Yeats hid meaning within meaning, so teasing out his intentions was challenging. 

Part of the reason why I looked at this poem was that I was familiar with Yeats’ poetry. Having heard of “The Second Coming,” a famous poem wherein Yeats describes the utter destruction that humanity wrought on the world during WWI, I originally assumed that “An Irish Airman…” was another anti-war poem set during World War I. 

Let me take you through my process when reading this poem. 

Step 1: Structure

As we’ve been using the reading journal, I’ve made it a priority to try to notice the structure of poetry. In the past, I never really thought about structure — I just dove in and started reading — but I’ve been trying to slow down to notice these details. And so, I started by reading the poem aloud, and I was soon struck with just how rhythmic the poem was. My voice, slow at first, soon quickened over time as I got used to how the poem sounded. The words that Yeats used were simple — most of them only had one syllable. The poem was roughly divided into four sections, each of which had an ABAB rhyme scheme. In addition, each line had exactly eight syllables. An effect of this rigid structure is that the poem seemed to roll off the tongue, building up a feeling of anticipation or exhilaration as the reader races to the end. As I read “Those that I fight I do not hate,/Those that I guard I do not love,” the simple one-syllable words and the parallel structure in the lines made me speed up, building a feeling of expectation. There was a clear rhythm, a clear sense that every word was intentionally chosen. 

Step 2: Plot

After reading it aloud, I went through the poem again, this time trying to take note of the plot. I’ll be honest: I had a lot of questions. 

The first section introduces the speaker who knows that he “shall meet [his] fate.” I was at first really confused about what that meant, but after looking back at the title (“An Irish Airman foresees his Death”), I started to piece it together. The speaker is probably a soldier in the air force, and the “fate” he is talking about is probably that he will die. Strangely, however, he doesn’t seem to care about the war itself: he “do[es] not hate” his enemies and “do[es] not love” the people he protects. If he doesn’t feel attached to the war, why would he be willing to die? Why does he seem so nonchalant about dying? 

Next, the speaker defines himself as a citizen of “Kiltartan Cross.” This, I thought, was confusing — I thought that the speaker was Irish! Maybe Kiltartan Cross is a small town in Ireland, and the speaker identifies himself with just the city? It’s strange, however, that he defines himself by his little town while fighting in a war for a huge country. I’m sure that this presents an inherent conflict for the speaker — if you don’t see yourself as a citizen of a country, why would you be fighting for that country? The next line was even more confusing: “My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor.” This means that the speaker defines himself even more specifically — he is a poor person. He doesn’t seem to be complaining about this, though; rather, he seems to proudly identify as a member of the poor. 

Soon, I noticed a shift: suddenly, the speaker begins to discuss why he is here, the circumstances that led to him being in the sky. In the third “quatrain,” the speaker discusses how he wasn’t obligated by “law” or by “cheering crowds,” but he just felt “A lonely impulse of delight” when he was flying. I’ll be honest — I would never fight in a war simply because I was bored. Why would the speaker do that? 

In a poignant conclusion, the speaker reveals that his future is a “waste of breath.” Through repetition, he shows that his past is “A waste of breath” as well. “In balance with this” meaningless “life,” the speaker notes, his “death” will also be meaningless. I noticed that Yeats repeated the word “balance.” Given that the speaker’s life seems pretty despairing (he’s “poor” and is entirely at peace with the fact that he will die), I wondered why Yeats would specifically choose to use the word “balance” twice. After all, I would think that the speaker’s life is unbalanced. 

Step 3: Synthesis (part 1)

After synthesizing my thoughts about the plot of the poem, I thought I understood the meaning— Yeats is making a stinging criticism of war, describing it as pointless. As he presents a speaker that is entirely indifferent about the outcome of the war (lines 3-4), who doesn’t feel any attachment to his country’s government (5-6), and who nonetheless is sacrificing his life for that war (1), Yeats is indicting governments that drag their citizens to fight in wars that do not affect them at all, wars that do not have any significance for the lives of everyday people. Thus, Yeats is criticizing his government for fighting in WWI. I was pretty proud of myself; the job was complete. 

Step 4: Self-Questioning

But then, as I was considering whether to choose a more difficult poem, I looked at the title again: “An Irish Airman foresees his Death.” I thought about why Yeats specifically chose to make his speaker Irish during WWI. While my European history knowledge is limited, I do know that Ireland wasn’t a country during World War I; it was a British colony. This detail, I thought, must be important. I had to read the poem again. 

Step 5: Rereading

I reread the poem, this time interpreting it through the lens of Irish identity. Suddenly, the poem made even more sense, had even more significance. 

As Yeats describes the indifferent Irishman, he is describing a soldier who must wear a British uniform. However, when I read the line “Those that I guard I do not love,” I realized that the speaker feels no attachment to Brits because he is Irish, because he does not have any connection with the government that oppresses his people. When the speaker defines himself as a citizen of “Kiltartan Cross,” therefore, he is implying that he does not feel any allegiance to the British Crown, as he is more attached to his little town than to the country whose flag he wears. 

The second “quatrain” then takes on a whole new layer of meaning when approaching the poem through an anti-colonial lens — when the speaker describes how his fellow Irishmen will neither face “loss” nor feel “happier” at the war’s conclusion, perhaps he is criticizing the British regime, who send Irishmen to fight in their wars without addressing the real needs of the Irish people. After all, Britain isn’t doing anything to help “Kiltartan’s poor,” who will still be poor at the war’s end (no outcome would “leave them happier than before”); the Irish will still be downtrodden and oppressed no matter what happens with the war. 

After the shift, when the speaker describes the circumstances that led him to fight, an anti-British framework for analysis reveals a deep-set feeling of discontent under the British occupation. Being Irish under British rule means to live without meaning — to live with unsolved problems (lines 7-8), to have no prospects (14-15), to live in malaise. This is why the frivolous “impulse of delight” that the speaker gains from flying is worth dying for — because his life was meaningless on the ground. As the speaker discusses “balanc[ing] all” and realizing that his future and past are both a “waste of breath,” Yeats shows that the general Irish public is discontent with British colonialism, is suffering a painful emotional toll under British rule. 

Step 6: Synthesis (part 2)

Thus, Yeats’ “An Irish Airman foresees his Death” is a difficult poem. While, yes, Yeats is criticizing involvement in World War I, a war that he views as pointless, he simultaneously makes a veiled argument for Irish nationalism. Yeats calls into question the relationship between Britain and Ireland that demands Irishmen being sent to their death to fight British wars. Yeats argues that British colonialism has not solved any Irish problems, and instead has merely brought dissatisfaction and disheartenment to ordinary Irish citizens. 

Conclusion

The difficulty in this poem lies not with the language that Yeats uses (the language is quite simplistic) nor with the structure (surprisingly, the structure is basic). Rather, the difficulty comes from the meaning behind the meaning — Yeats expects his reader to spend time with the piece, to read and reread, to consider what the poem is saying about multiple subjects. A cursory reading of the poem tells the story of a depressed airman; a deeper analysis reveals a passionate anti-war argument and a stinging criticism of British imperialism. 

Well, we’re back! It’s been a month since my last blog, and I’m excited to be at school again. 

Winter break was a lot of fun. My family and I went to West Palm Beach, and we spent a week of relaxation boogie-boarding, watching TV, and playing cards. While I could write a whole blog about the vacation, I want to instead talk about a specific card game that we played: Skip Bo. 

When I was a kid, we used to play Skip Bo all the time (I distinctly remember being good at the game!), but westopped playing years ago. I had entirely forgotten about its existence. When we were packing for the trip, however, I pushed aside a stack of clothes to reveal the green and yellow box in the back of my closet. Remembering the near-daily competitions with my parents, sister, and grandparents, I snuck the box into my bag.

After an early morning wake-up, a rush to the gate, a disappointing hours-long delay, a breakfast and lunch in the concourse, a flight, and a short drive, we arrived at the hotel late at night. With Monday Night Football on in the background, I pulled out the deck and suggested that we play Skip Bo.

Let me explain the rules for some context. Each player has a “stock pile” of thirty cards, where the top card is visible to all players. Your objective is to be the first to use up your stock cards. There are up to four shared “build piles” where players can put cards in order from 1-12, and each player has five cards in their hand to use. If I have a 6 as my stock pile card, I would try to put down a 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 from my hand, and then I could use my 6 from the stock pile. If I can use all of my stock pile cards first, I would win. 

At the same time, however, if I notice that my sister has a 3 on her stock pile, I could choose to play a 1, 2, and a 3, which would effectively block her. And so, your goal is twofold: block others from using their cards, and use your own stock pile cards to win the game.

While I had anticipated that we would play one game before getting bored, my family and I were quickly enthralled by the competition, laughing hysterically and eagerly blocking one another. We soon turned off the TV entirely, solely enjoying each other’s company. We talked about the game, about work, about friends. By 2 AM, we were still playing with hushed voices, trying not to wake the neighbors. 

For the rest of the trip, we would adhere to the same schedule: wake up, eat, go to the beach while there was sunlight, come back, shower, and play Skip Bo at night. 

And so, I got little sleep during the vacation, as we would be playing cards together for hours. Each game (which could already take up to forty-five minutes alone) was soon followed by animated calls for a rematch, and before we knew it, it would be 2 in the morning. 

But all vacations have to end, and I was disappointed when we landed back at O’Hare. Yes, I mourned the beaches, but I also feared that we would lose that fun that we had together in the hotel room. 

My friends know that I’m a TV addict — more often than not, I’m watching Modern Family reruns with my sister. In fact, I’m watching Phil and Claire on the TV as I’m typing this. However, there isn’t much conversation to be had while looking at actors on a screen. There isn’t much connection to be gained while staring at a television. 

Being in that hotel playing cards with my family made me realize how much we were missing out on by just spending time gawking at a big screen. Upon reflection, I realized that I learned more about my family’s lives in the evenings in Florida than I did back in Naperville. 

And so, now, instead of coming home just to plop down on the couch and watch another episode of black-ish, my family has made an effort to replicate that time together in West Palm Beach, to replicate that time where we were actively engaged with one another. At night, we sit at the dinner table, eat, and then pull out the cards to play Skip Bo. 

Well, we made it! 

It has been a long semester filled with college applications, really difficult AP Lit texts, and a lot of work. But, save for the last two days of finals, we’re done! 

I’ll be honest — this semester was probably the hardest semester for me personally. Everyone talks about how junior year is supposed to be the most difficult time in high school, but that just  wasn’t the case. It was really challenging for me to balance college applications, schoolwork, and friendships. And so, the cumulative effect of this year on me as a person is the reaffirmation of the importance of persistence.

Persistence

Persistence is something that is ingrained into every student’s head — even back in fourth grade, my teacher had this duck photo on the wall. I had always dismissed the poster when I saw it, finding it trite or unnecessary. After all, I’m not a duck. But throughout the year, I found myself thinking back to that duck, struggling to make it to the next stair, but nonetheless never giving up.

This year, I’ve struggled — I struggled through Faulkner and Morrison, I struggled when learning how to do triple integrals in spherical coordinates, I struggled when writing a bunch of supplemental essays during the weekend before November 1st. But, like that duck, I didn’t give up. Now, sitting at the end of the year, I’m proud of the work I did, proud of the journey I went through, proud of how I came out on the other end. 

Even in this class, persistence has guided me throughout this messy first semester. Last year, in Lang, I remember that I could read assigned passages in an hour, gliding through the approachable prose in Into the Wild. But, in Lit, that strategy just will not work. The texts have complex plots, unreliable narrators, confusing symbols, discombobulating narrations, and stream-of-consciousness passages that will make you want to throw your book on the floor. This is not something you can do in an hour.

So, I slowed down my reading — a lot. I annotated thoroughly, read, reread, re-reread, summarized, and stopped myself throughout the chapters. I spent an absurdly long time reading As I Lay Dying and Beloved, struggling to understand what was going on. But, I persisted, and I made it through. Like that little duck, I climbed the stairs. 

And so, this past semester has re-taught me the importance of persistence. Yes, it seems banal, but this long, arduous semester of contemplating my future, writing essays, and reading difficult literature has shown me how important it is to persevere. 

Value of Friendships

Persistence, however, is an individual task — it is the personal insistence that I will not give up. But, if anything, this year has shown me the importance of others in your story, the importance of turning outward to find help.

Going through the college admissions process is dehumanizing — it’s easy to feel as if you are being measured up to your peers, as if you are an object whose worth can be captured in a yes or a no. So, you’re confronted with a choice: do you buy into the system of competition, or do you embrace who you are and maintain friendships? 

I know people who snoop around trying to figure out where everyone’s applying, what everyone’s writing about, what everyone did in high school, as a way to make themselves feel better. That’s not how I want to live. 

After all, thirty years from now, I’m not going to remember how much I cared about getting into X school; rather, I’m going to remember the people around me, the relationships I forged with others. 

I’m going to remember the fantasy football watch parties on Sunday evenings that I spent with friends; I’m going to remember how my friends and I all went to MVC on senior ditch day so we didn’t miss the lesson before skipping the rest of school; I’m going to remember the Friendsgiving dinner that we had during Thanskgiving break. 

This semester has shown me the value of the relationships that I have created over the past eighteen years. They should not be taken for granted; they should not be set aside to make way for reckless ambition. They should be cherished.

 

Final Thoughts

And so, having almost completed seven semesters of high school, we are incredibly close to graduation. And that proximity to adulthood, to the great unknown, is not lost on me. 

Over the past semester, my entire perspective has changed. In high school, I’ve always been treading water — I refused to allow myself to think more than a week out, focusing just on the clubs, homework, classes, and tests that filled my present-day. However, as I applied to  colleges and  even turned 18, I started to turn my gaze outside of Naperville North, thinking about my future.

I’ve started to think about “Who do I want to be?”, “What I want to do with my life?”, “What do I enjoy?”. I had never before permitted myself to have this period of self-reflection — and so, in all honesty, I don’t have answers to any of these big questions. 

But even just the process of thinking about myself outside of my academics, outside of my activities, is liberating. I’m excited to continue this journey of self-discovery as I enter my last semester of high school. 

Whenever I’m giving one of my friends a ride, SiriusXM playing in the background, the question inevitably arises: “What are you listening to?!”

My friends always have the same accusatory tone, the same anger in the eyes, the same why-do-I-have-to-listen-to-this glare. It’s as if I’m doing something wrong — as if the music playing in the car is a morally indefensible decision. My reaction used to be one of embarrassment — I’d apologize, switch the station to “The Spectrum,” and put on whatever unobjectionable rock song was on the radio at the time. But, over time, I’ve come to terms with my music tastes; regardless of who is in the car, I turn up the volume and drum my thumbs on the steering wheel in time with the bass drum’s thump, thump, thump. 

I guess I’ll admit it: I’m a Bruce Springsteen fan. 

Before you judge me — a brown 18-year-old listening to the 70-something personification of Americana — let me provide some background.

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As a kid, my dad and I would drive all over. I was on the travel soccer team — we had games in Rockford, Peoria, St. Louis. We’d be in the car for hours at a time, and, for my dad, this was a prime opportunity for him to “educate” me. So, he’d play Bruce records.

To be clear, little Shan hated Springsteen. Springsteen’s voice wasn’t that great, his music wasn’t that appealing, and — most importantly for me — he was old. When I thought of the Boss, I thought of eighty-year-olds reminiscing about their “good ol’ days” when they didn’t have creaking joints. Gross. 

So, for the longest time, I tuned my dad out as he talked about how he’d stay up late listening to Darkness on the Edge of Town; I ignored him as he quoted lines from Springsteen songs. It was a huge waste of time. 

And my dad started to notice my boredom: my exasperated sighs as Springsteen’s voice rasped through the speakers, my apathetic nods as he’d talk about trailing the band across the country, watching concert after concert. So, the E Street Band played less and less often in the car — the powerful rock music supplanted by auto-tuned pop songs. I didn’t miss it, to be clear. But, before I knew it, I stopped listening to music altogether. Without having a go-to band or genre to listen to, I didn’t feel particularly passionate about music, didn’t feel an attachment to it. 

But then, in seventh grade, I got a free Spotify account. Our much-too-verbose science teacher compelled me to act — music was far preferable to being lectured during Supervised Study. As I skimmed through Spotify’s immense library, I stumbled upon a name I hadn’t seen for a couple of years: Bruce Springsteen. 

For nostalgia’s sake, I decided to listen to a song. I clicked “Thunder Road,” popped my headphones in, and the words came to me in an instant. I didn’t even know that I knew the words, if that makes sense. But waiting for me, buried in my subconscious, the lyrics came pouring out. For the rest of that class period, I listened to Springsteen, whispering about the “magic in the night.” The next day, I did the same thing, putting on “The River.” Soon, I had made a huge playlist, shuffling through the songs every day. 

While I had undergone a musical epiphany at school, I remained stubbornly unwilling to admit to my dad that he was right. It was a matter of pride for me — how could I possibly go crawling back? So, I’d listen to Springsteen on the sly, sneaking in time to listen to “Racing in the Street” in my room. 

Bruce was always my dad’s favorite artist, but, over time, he became mine as well. 

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And so, I’m unashamed of being a fan of Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band. His songs tell the story of a young man eager to go out and do something with his life — to work hard. 

On those late nights when I’m studying for tests or doing homework, I look to Bruce’s music, his insistence to keep “working on a dream.” When feeling sad, I listen to “The Rising.” When feeling happy, I turn to “Born to Run.” 

Bruce’s music has had such an impact on me — as a person, as a student, as a family member. A few years ago, I built up the courage to admit it to my dad, and now we listen to Bruce together — just like those car rides to St. Louis. Heck, I even talked about Springsteen in college applications. 

So, if you ever need a ride from me, don’t be surprised if E Street Radio is playing in the car — I’ll be drumming on the wheel, singing along to the music. 

The one thing that my friends know about me is that I’m a political junkie. 

I know it’s embarrassing, but instead of browsing TikTok, I find myself scrolling through POLITICO; instead of watching YouTube videos, I read The Hill. It’s gotten to the point where, when I type the letter “p” into Safari, my phone knows I’m going to POLITICO. “T” means The Hill, and “a” means Axios. To put it lightly, there are many mornings where I nearly arrived late to 1st period because I was scrolling through articles after waking up (sorry Mrs. Moore!). 

And so, to me, Tuesday was the Super Bowl. It was the day that I had been reading about for the past year; the day that had been stressing me out for the longest time. Tuesday was the day of the midterm elections. 

Given that I’ve followed politics for so long and have worked on multiple campaigns (2/2 record!), I feel like I have enough credibility to at least offer my perspective on Tuesday’s elections. So, without further ado, here are my own takeaways from Tuesday. (Disclaimer: these are entirely my own conclusions — feel free to disagree with me!). 

(If you haven’t kept up with the news, here’s a good summary video about what happened during the elections.) 

1. Worries about Democrats’ messaging were way overblown

For the longest time, conventional wisdom in Washington held that Democrats did a whole lot during their time in Congress, but failed to properly tell voters what they did. In essence, Democrats were criticized for having a huge messaging problem. Here’s an example. And another. And another. And another. Given that the president’s party has traditionally lost seats during the off-year elections, it seemed like Democrats had no chance going into the election on Tuesday. Pundits were calling the election a “Red Wave,” indicating their confidence that Republicans would sweep the elections. 

But on Tuesday, Democrats were able to mobilize their voters in large numbers to the polls — even defying cyclical and structural disadvantages in ‘22. Remember all of Democrats’ scary TV commercials talking about how so-and-so is “too extreme for Illinois”? Well, it turns out that those ads kind of worked. 

According to exit polls, approximately equal percentages of the country viewed the other party as “extreme.” Given how Democrats were being nationally lambasted in the media over crime, inflation, and immigration, being equal in this regard may actually be a success. 

Maybe Democrats’ messaging wasn’t great, but it wasn’t so bad either. 

2. Trump is in trouble

One figure has loomed large over the midterms for the past two years: Donald Trump. After losing the White House in 2020, Trump has assumed a kingmaker position within the Republican Party, forcing prospective candidates to kiss his ring in Mar-a-Lago and endorsing his hand-picked sycophants for races where candidate quality was essential. 

A TV doctor ran for Senate in Pennsylvania; an ex-college football star ran in Georgia; a venture capitalist in Arizona; an author in Ohio. Unfortunately for Trump, these picks haven’t been doing too great. 

Even as John Fetterman, a Democrat in Pennsylvania, struggled forming sentences after a stroke, Trump’s endorsed candidate Dr. Mehmet Oz lost his bid for the Senate, dealing a huge blow to Republicans’ chances of reclaiming the chamber. In Georgia, Herschel Walker incessantly faced awful news — while he claims to be “pro-life,” he paid for his girlfriends to have abortions… twice — causing his campaign to constantly be on the defense. In Arizona, Trump-endorsed Blake Masters is losing (ballots are still being counted). In Ohio, JD Vance actually won his race, but the race ended up being much more competitive than it should have been. 

As Trump gears up for another bid for the White House (he’s planning on announcing on Tuesday), he will have serious questions to face about his viability as a candidate and as the leader of the Republican Party. After all, Trump seems to have been more of a hindrance than a help for the Republicans this cycle, and he potentially destroyed Republicans’ hopes of winning back the Senate. 

In other words, Trump is in trouble. 

3. Kevin may be cooked

One bright spot for Republicans: they’re likely to regain control of the House of Representatives. While their majority will be much slimmer than it was supposed to be (likely around 5-10 seats rather than an expected 20-40), Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy is poised to obtain the elusive Speaker of the House position that he’s been chasing his whole career. 

The only problem? He has to make a Faustian bargain to get it. 

The House Freedom Caucus, a group of far-right Republicans, has always been a thorn in Republican leadership’s side. In 2015, they oversaw the takedown of Speaker John Boehner; Boehner’s successor, Paul Ryan, had to nail down agreements from the Freedom Caucus that they wouldn’t repeat that same stunt. 

And so, it feels like déjà vu as the Freedom Caucus now makes extraordinary demands of Kevin McCarthy to secure their support for his speakership. 

Until 2019, any House member could make a “motion to vacate the chair” — in other words, they could force a vote to recall the Speaker of the House. Though Speaker Pelosi got rid of that rule, Freedom Caucus members are now making the “motion to vacate” one of their priorities in exchange for supporting McCarthy. 

If McCarthy accedes to these demands, any time the Republican majority does anything to tick off the Freedom Caucus, McCarthy could lose his job, as any member could call to recall him. Why would a Speaker McCarthy make bipartisan agreements with the Biden administration if it could cost him his speakership? How could McCarthy rein in his extremist wing if he could lose his job for doing it? 

Unless McCarthy can make some serious maneuvers around the Freedom Caucus, it seems like he has choice: become an impotent Speaker incapable of controlling his party or not become Speaker at all. 

In short, Kevin’s cooked. 

 

So those are Shan’s major midterm takeaways after a dramatic 2022 midterm election. President Biden will be walking away from these results emboldened and excited for a 2024 run; President Trump faces serious questions about whether he should remain leader of the Republican Party. The Democrats may end up keeping the Senate; the “Red Wave” ended up being a ripple. 

If you still have questions about the midterms, feel free to ask. If I don’t know the answer, I’m sure POLITICO does.

Yesterday, during passing period, I was walking in the halls with my friend, and he made an astute observation about those around us:

“You know, you can tell if someone’s a junior or a senior now,” he said. “If they have the up-at-3AM eye bags, they’re seniors.” 

I hadn’t realized it, but then I saw he was right — heads slouched, eyes red, faces drawn, NNHS seniors were egregiously identifiable, trudging along the halls like zombies waiting for 3:10 PM. With November 1st — that day — on everyone’s mind, sleep deprivation among the senior population had become endemic. 

And, to be clear, I’m no exception. Thinking back, I realized that it had been a long time since I had last gotten my pediatrician-recommended 9 hours of sleep; in fact, I slept at 1 AM the night before. But unlike my friends, who spend their time productively checking off supplemental essays and actually clicking the “submit” button on their applications, I sleep at 1 AM for reasons completely unrelated to college apps. Let me talk you through a few of them. 

1. The Big Bang Theory

Perhaps the biggest culprit behind my 1 AM sleep time is The Big Bang Theory. Though the show has been off-air for the past three years, my sister and I are the reason why Jim Parsons continues to mint money off of syndication. 

It’s a tradition at home — the second we walk through the garage door into the house, we start arguing over who should turn the TV on. Sometimes we’ll try to debate, fighting over who had the worst day, who deserves a break, who shouldn’t have to get off the couch to grab the remote. But nonetheless, HBO Max inevitably ends up on the TV, and we are soon staring at Leonard, Penny, and Sheldon’s smiling faces.

Between episodes, I always protest, listing the homework that is still undone, the supplemental essays still unwritten. I tell my sister, “We have to turn off the show.” But somehow, no matter how hard I try, I soon hear the theme song — “Our whole universe was in a hot, dense state…” — as the next episode begins. 

And so, right off the bat, I’ve wasted an hour of my precious time at home watching old reruns of episodes I can quote from. I’ll be honest: as I write this sentence, Season 9, Episode 11 is playing in the background.

2. “Break Time”

Somehow, over the years, I have developed a twisted system of rewarding myself after completing a task — break time. Break time means sitting on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram or reading through news stories. 

In theory, break time is a good idea. Scientifically, we know that interrupting long periods of work with intermittent, short breaks contributes to increased productivity. After all, constant intellectual stimulation without breaks can numb our brains and cause efficiency to deteriorate. So, my thought process goes, how can I argue with science? 

But science’s definition of break time and Shan’s definition of break time are wildly different. Science’s definition of break time is 5-10 minutes of distraction. Shan’s definition of break time is lying on the couch doing nothing for up to an hour. Not exactly the same. 

And so, after finishing my math homework, I spend the next hour carefully scrutinizing my For You page rather than doing anything else remotely productive. No wonder I sleep so late! 

3. Fantasy Basketball

If you’ve recently tuned into Shan’s Blog, you’d know that I’m in a fantasy football league with my friends this year, and I get really passionate about winning (here’s my last post if you’re interested!). This week, however, my WR1 is concussed, my RB2 has a season-ending ACL injury, my QB is on bye, and my WR2 has a broken shoulder. Team Gupta’s future is not too bright. 

Given that my chances of winning fantasy football are rapidly diminishing, I now devote my energy to fantasy basketball, an exciting new frontier. I’ll be honest though — I don’t really understand the rules. When Big Bang Theory isn’t on or when it’s not break time, I spend my time on the ESPN Fantasy app, reading about the rules, setting my week’s lineup, or tracking my players’ injuries. Who knows if Team Gupta (basketball edition) will be as good as Team Gupta (football edition) once was, but I’m excited to find out. 

4. Homework

Although reasons #1-3 have all dealt with self-imposed blunders, #4 is something outside of my control. For some reason, math and science teachers haven’t gotten the memo that college applications are due on November 1st. Instead of chipping away at the applications due in *checks calendar* 5 days, I spend my time poring over the biology textbook or doing math homework. So, it’s not entirely my fault that I sleep late. 

As I check off “AP Lit Blog #4” from my to-do list, I hope that you have learned what not to do in order to maximize productivity. I’m going to submit this assignment now (8:30 PM), so hopefully, I can get a good amount of sleep tonight. But before I do, now it’s break time! 

I’ll be honest, I’m not the football kind of guy. I’m sure you could guess that by taking a look at me, but it’s true. The jacked biceps, the brutal tackling, the memory-loss-inducing concussions — that’s not exactly my jam. To be clear, I have a ton of respect for football players (and not just because they could beat me up). It’s just that my body is physically incapable of executing the movements that they so effortlessly perform. 

But fantasy football is another story. Fantasy football means me sitting on my couch comfortably watching as steroid-imbibed behemoths beat each other up. Fantasy football means me jumping to my feet and shouting at the TV when my WR1 drops a touchdown pass. Fantasy football means me wasting hours on CBS & USA Today looking at the top waiver wire pickups instead of reading, for example, As I Lay Dying. 

And so, this year, I joined a fantasy league with my friends. Like an idiot, I didn’t spend much time researching players before the draft, so I got screwed over with a couple of bad players (I’m looking at you, Cam Akers, with your 0 points in Week 1). After a couple of duds and bad beats, Team Gupta went into Week 5 with a 2-2 record and a projected rank of 13/14 in the league.

Ouch. 

So Week 5 was a big week. It was a defining moment for our team, an inflection point that could determine the future of our season (I use the word “our” because I think of myself as a coach and my fantasy lineup as my team — they have to listen to me). And all of this makes it even sadder that, even before the first kickoff on Thursday, we were given a 60% chance of losing. 

I didn’t even understand why — I thought that, over the four weeks, by carefully picking free agents and delicately trimming the fat from the lineup, I had perfected a winning team. But then I looked at our opponents. An elite squad of professionals with a 3-1 record, they touted heavy-hitters like Justin Jefferson who could easily put up 30 points. The situation seemed hopeless. Team Gupta was headed for last place.

And yet, we kept the faith; we kept marching forward. We stared down Goliath, tightly gripping a mere slingshot, ready to put up a fight. 

On Thursday night, Denver’s defense began our righteous crusade, racking up 6 sacks, nabbing 2 interceptions, and netting 13 points right off the bat. Still, the naysayers clamored, giving us a 60% chance of losing. 

Come Sunday, RB1 Derrick Henry and RB2 Breece Hall lit up the field, putting up a combined 3 TDs and 200 yards. Most importantly, they netted 27 points apiece. I excitedly checked the scores on my phone, waiting to see if ESPN’s projected scores changed. 60% chance of losing.

Then came my kicker Brett Maher — a kicker — putting up an impressive three field goals and an extra point, giving Team Gupta another 11 points. ESPN Fantasy was unimpressed — 59% chance of losing. 

I was livid. I spent the next few hours yelling at my WR1 Amon-Ra St. Brown through the TV screen, imploring him to DO SOMETHING rather than occupy space as he had been doing. St. Brown was unconvinced. Amon-Ra chose to catch the ball just 4 times and gave me 6 points.

It was looking dire. The percent chance of losing skyrocketed — reaching 70% at one time. The other team continued to rack up points, far surpassing projected point values in nearly every position. Taunts on the message board came pouring in, everyone eager to mock the once-again losers on Team Gupta.

The Philistine giant appeared to be unconquerable. 

But miraculously, the seemingly infallible enemy started to blunder. The Titans defense just netted 5 points; tight end Darren Waller suffered a hamstring injury. Kicker Cade York got only 2 points; RB Miles Sanders underperformed. The tides were turning. 

I was winning? 

I eagerly checked the scores. 131 points?! ESPN Fantasy, now apparently on my side, gave me a 75% chance of winning (not that I cared what they thought about me anymore).

On Monday night, after the final whistle was blown, it was confirmed — Team Gupta had prevailed.

Week 5 is a week that will go forever down in history. It marked a triumph of the underdog, the start of Team Gupta’s reemergence. ESPN Fantasy was so impressed with Team Gupta’s performance that, in its projected league rankings, we shot up to #2 in the league. Not bad!

Playing fantasy football with my friends has given me a much-needed stress relief from all that’s going on during senior year. When I don’t want to write that 550-word supplemental essay, I check the waiver wires, scouting out new runningbacks. When I don’t want to study for the math quiz tomorrow, I read fantasy articles online, looking for tips for the next week. It’s been the perfect way for me to decompress and have fun, even amid the chaos of first semester, senior year. 

Unfortunately, however, my team is causing me a headache right now. Going into Week 6, Team Gupta is dealing with both RB1 Derrick Henry and WR1 Amon-Ra St. Brown on bye weeks. Team Gupta’s coach (me) is perplexed as to what to do. Let me know in the comments what you’d suggest.