I marvel at the back-to-school icebreaker that asks students to share a superpower they’d want–because I already have one: intense focus. Junior year included AP US History II, amica mea, so I was determined to earn the elusive “5” and “A” historically rare at my school. When I listen to study playlists I curate, the world around me disappears as I walk alongside historical figures or literary characters whose worlds I enter. The eclectic songs in my junior year study playlist not only reflected a multifaceted me but also mapped connections between my past and my future goal to practice law.
My friends coined my top two tracks “the duality of Laurel” due to mutual dissonance. While Nikki Minaj’s vivace hit “Super Bass” is about a playful crush, for me its bass “has my heartbeat runnin’” towards goals. While the classic croon “Linger” by The Cranberries deconstructs unrequited love, to me it bellows a bittersweet juxtaposition between study and sleep during late-night marathon APUSH sessions. While exhilaration focuses my eyes, I exhaustedly ask myself as I listen, “Do you have to let it linger?” My answer—a resounding, “Yes!”—(even if Hamilton can’t return my affection).
The hip-hoppy “Guns and Ships” from Lin Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton also mustered the midnight moxie to manifest progress. While studying and managing tasks for activities I led, it reminded me that one’s community is paramount, as vocalist Christopher Jackson prompts Hamilton, “Troops are waiting in the field for you.” This line strengthened my grit while appreciating new NJ-JCL enrollees awaiting registration, The Chomp writers ready for review, or my Mock Trial teammates ripe to run testimony.
Music was also the muse that linked my past experiences to law. As the alt-rock vocals of O’Riordan implore in “Linger,” “If you could return / Don’t let it burn / Don’t let it fade.” While studying for AP Pre-Calculus, as I plotted numbers, my playlist became an inverse function into my past. In preschool, when I didn’t speak to teachers for months, one suggested an evaluation. After drawing my family and being questioned on why everyone was smiling except Dad, I learned that his even countenance may reflect neurodivergence. I did not receive a label that day since I creatively compared my heterochromic eyes to a chameleon’s. I may have impressed the young LSW with my wit, but I didn’t leave relieved because the immediate reach for a diagnosis due to difference irked me, even at four. My intellectual curiosity just needed grace.
Within a few years, I developed the gift of gab as I forged friendships, but not everyone valued my voice. After my parents’ split in 2016, going back-and-forth between two homes while I was young often felt like an injustice, especially while I was focused on my latest feat. While I appreciate in hindsight the autonomy it offered, at the time, I often resented being told where I needed to be, so my passion for policy and civil liberties was seeded and put at the ready like “Guns and Ships,” as Miranda’s lyrics interjected with “How did [I] emerge victorious from the quagmire?”
The highlights on my own historical timeline answered–winning the elementary invention competition for Kid & Kat Uh-Oh Spray, presenting my “Big Cheese” speech against cheating to administration, proposing code of conduct policy to a community panel, dissecting a drug trial in patent litigation during Harvard’s Pre-College summer, managing difficult personalities on a state board, mentoring journalists on new legislation, and alas–earning the coveted 5 and 99% in APUSH! I share a love of history with Dad, so he managed a smile.
We are fortified by the rhythm of our histories. Since legacy only exists posthumously, Hamilton feared the inability to see his, but I trust the power of my passion and focus to write one that will linger like a song. In the meantime, I choose to be fearlessly present because my story is just beginning.
