My heartbeat was loud in my ears as I rushed down the red carpet, trying to take it all in. My friends and teachers, who at that point were more like family, flashed their cameras at me, yelling my name from every direction. The makeshift classroom I had laughed in, cried in, learned in, and grown in was suddenly transformed into a movie theater to screen the films we had made. I took my seat as my peers flooded in, the room abuzz as we all impatiently chatted, not realizing this was the last time we would be all together in this place.
The film I had made centered around a seventeen year old who is diagnosed with a life-threatening illness but refuses to let that control her last summer. She meets a boy and neglects to tell him about her illness, not wanting it to impact their potential relationship. She then leaves at the end of the summer, knowing her time is coming to an end, and leaves behind a letter explaining everything. He finds the letter, and as he reads it, he reflects on their whole relationship.
I honestly do not remember much about the first time I saw my film on the big screen, as my eyes were blurry with tears throughout the whole six-minute showing. Though my film was an emotional journey, my tears were more so due to the reactions of my peers. My chest swelled with pride as I realized I was not the only one crying. My film had touched those around me, too. The fact that I had created something that could evoke such a reaction from others was unfathomable.
After the films were shown, we sat there listening to the program director address each staff member individually, recounting her experiences with them and their relationships. My soft sobs broke the few silences between speakers. As we reflected on the program, I realized just how incredible the past month had been.
In a tiny town in Normandy, off the beaten path, is the most magical place I have ever seen with my own eyes. Chateau de Mont Epinguet is a historic home that has had a front seat to the pivotal moments of the past and the development of the creators of tomorrow. Once a royal summer home, then later passed between the Nazis and the Allies during World War II, it is now home to a creative summer program for high schoolers. Throughout my difficult sophomore year, it never occurred to me that I might spend the summer in such a remarkable place.
My sophomore year didn’t go quite how I expected. It began slowly, as these things always do—a late pick up here, a hushed conversation there. Until, eventually, I knew something was up. Yet none of the possibilities I thought up would measure up to reality. On Thanksgiving Day in 2022, a family meeting was called.
There it was, the moment I had been waiting for. I was finally going to get the answer to my questions. The moment I got the answer, I wished I had never asked. Sitting on the small blue couch in our bright living room, I felt that things were not as they should be. The air was thick with anticipation. My dad began to slowly explain the months of doctors appointments and hushed conversations, and then my mom told us the words no parent wants to say to their children. She told us she had been diagnosed with breast cancer.
My mother’s cancer diagnosis shook me to my core. It was something I had never expected to deal with. The next year passed in a whirlwind of doctor appointments, drastic haircuts, and overwhelming support from my friends and family. We acted as a unit and worked together as a family to get through it, but it was not an easy year. As such, my parents were insistent that I make the most of summer and have an adventure. After months of searching, my father stumbled upon a program in France called Berridge. Promising to be part artist retreat, part pre-college program, and part study abroad, it sounded like the perfect opportunity. Before I knew it, I was waving goodbye to my parents and racing to my gate as I flew halfway around the world by myself.
I had no idea what my future held. Arriving in this magical escape from reality, I was free from the confines of my day-to-day life. As an older sister and an avid opportunity seeker, I often take on responsibilities and leadership experiences in my small school. For once, however, I was free from others’ expectations. No one knew me, and no one knew what I was capable of. This gave me the absolute freedom I needed to become the person I wanted to be. The way I acted during those four weeks gave me the chance to take a deeper look at myself and the person I had become. It gave me such pride to realize that the person I had become was a kind friend, one who made others feel included and wanted, and one whom people were drawn to because of her cheerful air and endless enthusiasm.
Upon my return home, my bubble instantly popped. My mother had gotten another surgery to conclude her cancer treatment and my great-grandmother, a Holocaust survivor, was in the hospital. However, I had left Berridge a better person. Not only did I have a film, a concrete finished product, and a new form of art that I was now capable of creating, but I left with a newly refined idea of who I was, what I was capable of, and what I wanted to do with my life to leave a mark on the world.
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