My dear number 5,
To me, you are the number of pens in a G-2 pack, the only aspect of my life that has remained constant throughout my tumultuous high school career.
To me, you were the guiding light through my AP US History class, the first time I tasted real challenge.
To me, you were the goal I worked toward all year, that seemed both impossibly far away and tantalizingly close.
To me, you are the number of times I restarted my first APUSH DBQ essay, until tears stained the page, because I simply did not understand.
To me, you are the number of DBQs it took for me to finally grasp how I needed to write.
To me, you are how many months it took me to feel accepted in my sophomore year.
You are the number of honor societies I have joined--National, History, Science, Math, Thespian-- both an achievement and frustration because I fell just short of the one I care about most.
You are my greatest accomplishment, my crowning achievement: written proof that I can and will overcome.
You are the challenge my teacher issued me: that which I exceeded, and that which I work towards now.
You are my promise, my pledge, my guarantee that I will never settle for “passing”, for “second best”, for “good enough”.
You are my “when”. Not “if”.