Valedictorian Speech

We expect euphoria. What we often get is silence. And that silence is not failure. It’s the moment the world asks a harder question: Now that you’ve done it, what will you do with it?

And that’s what this speech is about. Not just how we got here, but what this moment demands of us. Today is a celebration, but it’s also something more. It’s a moment to ask ourselves what comes next. So instead of just applause and reflection, I want to offer three provocations. Three ideas that challenge the stories we’ve been told: The Illusion of Arrival, The Importance of Purpose, and The Act of Falling Forward. These aren’t just ideas. They’re invitations to question where we’re going, why we’re going there, and how we’ll walk when the path disappears.

We’ve all chased that one moment we thought would make us feel complete. The offer. The win. The stage. You get the acceptance email. You screenshot it. You send it to the group chat. And for about thirty seconds, the world feels perfect. Then, almost without warning, the moment passes, and you're left with a strange emptiness. Not sadness, just the quiet realization that nothing truly changed, because the milestone was never meant to complete you—it was meant to move you forward.

A few weeks ago, I saw a video of the Grade 12s walking past the Grade 3 class. The seniors barely noticed their younger brothers, but the third graders lit up. I realized I was watching my past, but they were watching their future. When we were in Grade 3, all we wanted was to be here. To wear the blue blazer. To walk these halls like we owned them. We thought: Just get to Grade 12. Then it was: Just get into university. Then it’s: Just get to the next thing. 

We could almost touch the finish line, but it kept pulling away. That’s the illusion. We spend so much time chasing what’s next, not realizing someone else is dreaming of the moment we’re already in. Here’s the truth: This ceremony — the blazers, the clapping, the speeches — isn’t proof we’ve made it; it’s permission to begin again, but this time, with better questions. Because the next chapter isn’t about performing. It’s about becoming.

We’re 18 now, which means we’re officially adults. Old enough to vote, pay taxes, and finally explain to our parents why we’re still “thinking about” moving out. But in all seriousness, the questions are changing. It’s no longer “What do you want to be?” Now it’s “Why?” Why that path? Why now? Why you?

I once heard Admiral William McRaven say that if each of us changes just a few lives, and that ripple continues, the impact becomes massive.

Let’s test that: The average person meets 80,000 people in their lifetime. If all 101 of us positively impact just 100 people, and each of them does the same, across three generations, the Class of 2025 could shape over 100 million lives.

That’s not just math, that’s legacy. And the best part? Purpose doesn’t need a stage. Just a choice, repeated again and again. Crescent gave us more than lessons. It gave us a starting point, a place where purpose showed up in service, in brotherhood, and in the little ways we showed up for each other. Our prefect motto said it best: “Embrace your values to find your purpose.” Because purpose isn’t instant, but it is inevitable — if you lead with what matters. 

For the third and final provocation, I would like to share something my father once told me: “If you're going to fall, fall forward.” At the time, I didn’t get it because for most of our lives, we’ve been told, “Be careful, have a backup plan.” But if I fall, I don’t want to fall back on anything. I want to fall forward. Because at least this way, I’ll see what I’m going to hit. And history is full of people who fell forward:

Albert Einstein didn’t speak until he was four. One teacher said he’d “never amount to much.” Fall forward.

Michael Jordan missed over 9,000 shots, lost nearly 300 games, and failed 26 times to hit a game-winner. Fall forward.

Michael Phelps didn’t medal at his first Olympics and nearly quit the sport. He went on to win 23 golds. Fall forward.

Howard Schultz was rejected by 242 investors before someone finally said yes to Starbucks. Fall forward.

The truth is, falling backwards is easier. It’s what we’re used to. Back into comfort. Back into doubt. Back into silence when we should speak. But here’s the danger: Falling backwards feels safer, but it’s the slowest way to disappear. You shrink your dreams. You avoid the risk. You play it small. Worst of all, you start to believe that’s who you are. So no, don’t fall backwards. As I close, I want to return to something from childhood, The Lorax, by Dr. Seuss. 

When I first heard that line, I thought it was just about gravity, but now I get it. It’s about moments like this, when the future is uncertain, and the only thing that shapes your fall is the way you lean. And this year, we leaned into each other.

And now, as we step into the unknown, I encourage each of you to lean with intention, fall forward, and find your purpose.

Thank you.