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Letter from the Editor

Dearest AffNo readers,

It hasn’t been long since I’ve been officially dubbed a Hawken alumnae. Even after recounting my entire high school career with my friends, reminiscing over our naive freshmen selves, I’m still in shock that I’ve finally graduated. I’ve spent practically my entire life at Hawken, and now it’s suddenly (and, of course, unfairly) over.

When my dad asked my six-year-old self if I wanted to attend Hawken, I said yes, merely because I saw that it had a swimming pool. Since then, I’ve lived through the Lower School, Middle School, and now Upper School. Genuinely, I am so grateful that I met the people I did and learned the things I did at Hawken.

Earphones plugged into my cyan blue iPod music player, I remember middle school me leaning against the foggy bus window, cheek pressed against the cool glass on the way to and back from a Doorways trip. Staring at the roads and trees blur past, this oh-so-introverted trance made the day-long road trips almost enjoyable. As I ventured through the streets to slurp down cloudy milkshakes or play tag in a seemingly abandoned playground in Chinatown, I breathed in the looming independence of adolescence.

Then came high school, me waving goodbye to Lyndhurst and me stepping into a world of firsts. A new campus and new faces from both teachers and students.

The first day of the club fair was overwhelmingly crowded and loud, intimidating upperclassmen towering above on the AC Lobby tables, advertising their club with handmade signs. Yet, somehow I overcame my fear of students who were merely one year older than me, and I found myself attending debate meetings, writing for the student newspaper, and chowing down on mooncakes during afternoon break. From the couch upstairs to the AC Lobby to the Shiv, my Hawken memories fill me with love.

I will miss my quirky and eccentric teachers’ in-class tangents about an obscure artist or them projecting serene images of their dogs during a quiz. I will miss hugging my friends in the halls, slurping makeshift Maggi noodles in the White House with them, and spending nearly every waking moment with my debate team members, moments that I have certainly taken for granted. I hope that my most cherished memories of Hawken will not grow vague and blurry.

Many of my classmates are people I have known for twelve years. Some of them I may not speak to anymore, but I’ll still wonder how they’re doing a couple years down the road. Although the Class of 2020 did not receive the graduation we hoped for, and I haven’t gotten to sob during our the commencement speeches, I sincerely wish everyone the best. Thank you—for everything.

Yours,

Carolyn Tung

Hawken 2020

May 24 2020

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