I remember the day I got kicked out of high school very vividly. It was the November of my junior year, I had been lackadaisical all semester, and my grades were at an all time low. I had been having meetings with my advisor and other faculty members all year, but none of it changed my attitude, though my grades went up somewhat. With this coming right after an academically terrible sophomore year, things eventually added up and I was requested to withdraw from the school for low grades and poor attitude.
Having attended this school since freshman year, I had grown very fond of the elegant campus lush green athletic fields, and the lively air of the student body. I was in a happy relationship with an amazing girl, everything had been perfect. But it was all a facade, and in a flash, everything I loved had all been torn away from me. The assistant headmaster called me to his office, where to my shock, my mom was sitting teary eyed. I hadn’t the faintest idea that my mom had flown 16 hours from Hong Kong to the U.S, in fact, I had been supposed to fly home the very next day for Thanksgiving break!
Several memories of that day are burned into my mind with astonishing clarity. At his office, the assistant headmaster finished up the official withdrawal letter, hands it to me, and says, “I’m sorry, but we are requesting you to withdraw from the school, please follow me to the headmaster’s office”. Holding the letter in one shaking hand, I forced my numb body to move and to follow him. My mind was reeling, thousands of thoughts were flying through my head, all the warnings teachers had given me reverberating through my mind.
Upon arrival at the headmaster’s office, he greeted me and invited me to sit. Feeling like my legs were about to collapse any second, I gratefully sank into the proffered chair, my mom pulling up a seat next to me. Clearing his throat, the headmaster began to speak, “I think you’re well aware of why you’re here,” taking my stunned silence as a yes, he continued, “while your grades have risen somewhat, they are still well below average and what we expect of our students.
As such, we are officially requesting you to withdraw from the school, you have two hours to pack all of your belongings and you must be off the campus by the end of the two hours”. Dumbfounded, I rose up from the chair, fragments of his words ringing in my ears. The next two hours sped by, I remember seeing the shocked faces of my dorm mates as they watched me pack away everything I owned into two suitcases, and stuffed what didn’t fit into oversized duffel bags.
I heard the soft “I’m sorry’s”, the “This isn’t fair!’s”, I heard them all, the multitude of voices blending into a cacophony of noise in my head. And yet, I sought only one face, that of my then girlfriend. The moment I saw her, I went straight to her, relaxing into her comforting embrace, listening to her gentle reassurances. For a second, everything seemed okay again, the noise faded away, nothing mattered except the girl in my arms. It was not to last, however, as the dean of students quickly called my name, and reminded me that I had to be off campus in the next five minutes.
The last image I have of the campus is the silhouette of my girlfriend, crying into her best friend’s shoulder, outlined by the lights of the beautiful performing arts center. I left the campus at exactly 7:00pm. The two-hour drive from school was spent in complete silence between my mom and me, she too absorbed in her thoughts, and I still senselessly trying to process what had just happened. In my head, random memories flashed through my eyes, laughing and joking with my friends at the dining hall, complaining together about having to dress up yet again for sit down dinner.
I spent the next month and a half in a lost daze, idly filling out applications to potential schools. Ever present was the memory of my now ex-girlfriend, we talked almost every night after my expulsion, trying to decide what to do about the two of us. We knew that the chances of us seeing each other again were slim to none, and as such we decided it was best we break up. I missed her terribly, and she had decided to block me on all social media so that the separation would be easier for us both. I think, however, that part of me will always belong to her, and I can honestly say that she is the first girl I’ve ever really loved. It was during this time that I started smoking cigarettes.
Oftentimes at night, when my parents were asleep, I’d go up to our roof and just smoke, listening to music, looking at everything but taking in nothing at the same time. My parents quickly grew worried about me, though they did not know about the various bad habits I had picked up, or why I had begun the practices in the first place. Irregardless, they sent me to a psychologist, where I was promptly told that I had depression, and was recommended to attend therapy sessions.
I ignored the advice, what little pride I had left demanded I solved my own problems. The journey back from what for me was rock bottom was not easy at all, I toured three potential schools, finally picking one. On the flight back to the U.S, I couldn’t sleep, too nervous about the upcoming events. Would I fit in, I wondered, I remembered when other kids had transferred in mid-year at my old school and had a rough time transitioning. By the time I got to the actual school itself, I was just a ball of nerves and the fact that my new dorm room greatly resembled a prison cell did not help.
After unpacking, I went down to the common room, where I almost walked straight into a dorm mate. After brief introductions, my new friend who turned out to be Russian, showed me around the school. Eventually, we arrived at the squash courts, where I met my new team and coach. I will always be forever grateful to them for immediately accepting me as one of their own. The rest of the semester passed by without much fanfare, with me duly fulfilling my responsibilities. And yet, life still seemed dull, and without purpose.
It was not until my senior year, that I began to find a reason to live, a reason to have fun and enjoy myself again. I had decided to move to a new dorm, specifically for upperclassmen alongside my friend from Russia. It was an odd transition at first, two international kids who just crashed the preppiest dorm on campus. Soon enough, however, the ice broke, and the memories that I ended up making with those friends are ones that I will treasure forever. It is this group of friends that I credit with restoring me from my half-life, this group of people taught me how to live and have fun again, and I will always consider them family. I honestly would not even be close to the person that I am today without them, Sheehan Mob 2015-2016, I salute you, love you all!
Life can change in the blink of an eye, and not always for the better. Regardless, I am a firm believer in that things happen for a reason. Although getting kicked out may have seemed like the end of the world at the time, and while I may have been absolutely crushed by it, the experience helped me to grow and mature so much as a person. It taught me to treasure each and every moment, it taught me that no matter how dark or long the tunnel seems, there really is always a light at the end of it. It’s really odd how sometimes things that seem bad at the time can lead to such happiness, but if there really was one thing I took away from this, it’s that if you find happiness, try your damnedest to hold on to it.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. - Dylan Thomas
