If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter.
This quote, attributed to, depending on who you ask, Mark Twain, Winston Churchill or even Cicero, reflects the dilemma in front of me. Now, I am no Twain, Churchill or Cicero (not yet, at least). Nonetheless, I find myself in the position of having produced an exceedingly long piece of writing that my ever-mindful editor, Elli, has very kindly (yet forcefully) asked me to cut down.
Already axed from my first draft, we have lost tales of greatness like the time I figured out how to get Arabic as a font onto Adobe InDesign or the time I pranked Abby and Elizabeth into going on a wild goose chase for an interview in (the non-existent) Room 260. Those, unfortunately, will have to be stories for another time.
So, in the little time and space that I do have, I want to reflect on the four endless yet all-too-short years that made up my time in high school, and acknowledge a couple of special people who made me into who I am today.
Firstly, I would like to thank my original Pitch mentor, Stella, a 2022 graduate whose unfortunate task it was to help me learn the ropes in my first semester on Pitch. The Pitch is a breeding ground for great leaders, and during my time, I learned from some of them: namely, Stella, Maeve, Jillian, Caedan, Yuval, Luke and Robert.
In my own tenure as a leader in The Pitch, it has been a privilege to work alongside other great leaders in the two Editorial Boards I served on, including Rachael, Elizabeth, Mia, Abby, Maya and Liam. One incredibly special shoutout goes to my right-hand man this year, and the reason for my continued sanity, Elli. And from each of my four years on Pitch, I thank the friends we made along the way: Alex, Julia, Sourish, Mackenzie, Lily, Lena, Aviva, Shae and Riley, among others.
As for the future of The Pitch, the 2026 Editorial Board is a group of people whose incredible skill and ability leave me well-assured in leaving The Pitch behind. My prodigious protégé Kareena, the incoming Pitch editors, and the many future writers of journalism and The Pitch all make me smile as I think of the press fights, EB meetings and Pitch parties to come.
Finally, I would be remiss not to thank my number one through it all, my advisor, teacher and mentor, Mrs. Borrelli. While I could easily write entire paragraphs about Borrelli, any testimonial in written or spoken word can be easily trumped by the proof in the pudding — the students that she develops from high school-aged children into adults who are writers, thinkers and leaders. I am honored to be just one example of The Borrelli Effect™.
With the prospect of leaving these special people soon, in my last few weeks and days of high school, I have undertaken the impossible task of trying to take in as much as I can — taking pictures with old friends, signing yearbooks and exchanging parting gifts. I know this is futile — that eventually, the people whose yearbook I signed will be trying to decipher my signature and remember who I was, much as I will do with those in my own yearbook.
While, of course, I’ll never forget the significant moments of high school that I’m most proud of — giving a speech at the University of Maryland, being named captain of the tennis team or the insane academic comeback I pulled off in Health B — I probably will forget many other things. But the truth is, no matter how much I forget in ten, twenty or fifty years, right here and right now, these people mean the world to me.
Soon, it will be my last day of high school. We always like to remember our firsts and lasts, the momentous milestones that mark the journey’s end, and the start of another. But in my opinion, there is an underappreciated magic in the moments between the first and the last — the memories that fade and the friends who become just familiar faces.
If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter.
But as the future beckons and Time begins its quiet crusade against memories, I will remember not just the big moments, but all the small moments and the “forgettable” things in between. So I choose to write on.
In these “last” words of my reflection on high school, I’ll say this: Don’t just treasure the things you’ll never forget. Treasure the ones you will forget, too, because those are the things that make high school unforgettable.
