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| My graduation day |
I don’t often like to write about my own accomplishments. It doesn’t feel natural to me. It defies an unwritten moral code of mine. Having someone write about me, I feel, is an even greater qualm that I purposely neglect unless it has been forced upon me. In which case I do the best that I can to minimalize the effect. Though the plaques and certificates are a testament to my growth, flaunting them is paradoxical; it is a conceited and thus immature demonstration. However, my mother asked me to work on this, and as much as I find it challenging, I write this, in as genuine a way as I can, about the unimaginable experiences with the heartiest of people I have ever met, that have raised me to the man I am today. These memories are the true gold that shine brighter than any plaque or trophy bound to collect dust.
I began my experience at Chaminade College School, an all male Catholic school in Toronto, as a reserved boy wanting nothing more than to adapt to his new surroundings. Chaminade, a modest institute to say the least, prides itself in having a “brotherhood” which connects its students, a common bond that calls for the support of friendship in all situations of life. Be it adversity or triumph, this brotherhood of peers and mentors provides an environment that welcomes the growth of the men that walk its halls. To me, Chaminade was a place to try, a home to meet my goal of leaving my mark.
