I awoke at 4:45 AM sharp to the triumphant refrain of “Hail to the Chief.” Thursday, May 16, 2024. “Carpe diem,” I thought as I slipped out of bed. I made my way to the bathroom, thoughts rushing through my head about how the crowd–the whole high school–would react. This wasn't my first Student Council speech, nor would it be my last. Following a decisive victory in the previous election, I became my grade's Student Council President. A year later, it was time for yet another contest for continuity. However, this one was different, as my victory earlier in the year was so dumbfounding that I did not have an opponent. It was still eminent to consider that a lack of opposition did not diminish the challenges ahead. I washed up, cleaned my teeth, and fawned over my appearance, making sure not a hair was out of place. I crept down the hallway, taking care to not wake my family. I noticed the TV was on. Whether inadvertently left on by another inhabitant of the household or indicative of someone else being awake I cannot say, but the polarizing headline displayed was irrefutable:“President Joe Biden and Former President Donald Trump Agree to Two Debates in June and September.” Sipping on my tea, I contemplated future debates of my own. By then, I had committed to pursuing the presidency of the United States of America. This may seem like a naïve notion, but I had actually put extensive forethought into it. During childhood, many of my forebears reminisced about returning to “the good old days,” a sentiment deepened by the pandemic and subsequent years. I questioned why it was impossible to return to those fondly remembered times. Through later education and searching, I realized it was not. This discovery influenced my choices, including my actions on that day. After finishing my tea, I quickly returned to my room to dress. I donned a crisp navy suit paired with a bold magenta tie–an idiosyncratic choice to command attention. Before long, the household was awake, and we departed for school. In the car, I meticulously reviewed my speech. Upon arrival, I bid my family farewell and entered the school–the room where it happens. Walking through the halls, I received positive remarks about my attire. From a simple “I like your tie” to overt admiration, the positive remarks were apparent. The 8AM bell marked the start of Geometry class, which seemed to drag on amidst a mental cacophony of anticipation and nerves, making it difficult to concentrate on final exam preparations. Upon being freed from my mathematical prison, I made my way to the auditorium for the morning assembly, speech snug in my pocket, and butterflies resolutely in my stomach. As others gave their addresses, I pulled out my own combing every sentence, word, and syllable until finally, it was time.“For sophomore president, Mr. Mason Bibby.” “Showtime.” As I climbed the stage, the audience awaited in silence.“Alright, Mason,” I thought,"Either they REALLY wanna hear what you have to say, or you have something stuck on your face." I hoped it profusely it was not the latter. Notwithstanding this, I orated with conviction, and spoke from the heart, something that I noticed was not present in modern politics. It is simple to sway voters with mendacity or false bravado, but engendering hope is the mark of a true leader."I stand here as a testament," I declared firmly, my words resonating throughout the auditorium.“To the integrity and character that this community—this family—displays.”I observed a shift in the sea of faces. I spoke a spirit of unity into these students; no easy task on account of their general indifference. I urged the crowd to remember those who leave a lasting impact, including myself. “Remember the one who listens. Remember the one who leads. Remember Mason Bibby for Sophomore Student Council President.”Departing amidst thunderous applause, I felt a swell of pride. Adjusting my jacket one last time, I stepped aside for the next speaker. Throughout the day, I received myriad commendations for my speech, from students and faculty alike. Finally, around 3 PM, I returned home. I took a moment to unwind, removing my jacket and draping it over the desk chair. I stepped outside, listening to the melodic chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves as a gentle breeze swayed my tie. Admiring the expansive landscape surrounding my home, I reflected on my achievements. Essay contests. Meetings with influential figures. And my student council career. I considered future milestones: college, military service, law school, and a potential career in politics. Thoughts raced through my mind, prompting a smile—I smiled for what I was. What I am. And what I am yet to be. Back inside, I rolled up my sleeves and powered on my computer. Entering a new tab, I searched for “leadership opportunities for high schoolers,” eager to discover avenues through which I could inspire the most crucial value for anyone–hope. Because a president's job–my job–is never done.

I am flying solo. I am walking the streets of Kadıköy all alone. My ferry ride: alone. My Sunday brunch: alone. I am taking the bus on a cold and snowy day: all alone. My music, my thoughts and baggy pants: that is all I have now. I walk past people with loved ones, I walk past happy children playing, I walk past old married couples, I walk past everything and they don't notice… And I am finally back at my bleak shelter that I call a dorm. My solitude. I am not alone. I am leaving Istanbul to go back home. I stop by every hand sanitizer station I can find. I stare at people to see if they are coughing. Anyone can have it. I might have it. We all might have it. As soon as they hear me arriving at home, my grandparents ask us to come to visit them. “I just came back from Istanbul, it's too risky,” I say. But they don't listen. My grandmother wants to cook me my favorite food, my granddad wants to buy me presents. Is that how people show each other their love? Because the idea of feeling responsible if they get “it” is not how I normally perceive love. It's silly. It's uncomfortable. It's just unnecessary. I show my love by not going there. It's because I care. Nevertheless, I start staying at my grandparents' house, eating at their dinner table, listening to their tea talk in the evening. I appear to not have “it”. They appear to not die. Time passes and managing friendships over the internet gets harder. I seem to not get on well with people that I call “my best friends.” They seem to not understand my jokes. They seem to blame me for my sense of humor. They seem to not care about my real intentions. They just see what they see and that seems to be enough for them. This is how I always do it, this is how I always show them I love them. I tell people that I don't care and when I laugh after finishing my sentence, it's always funny. It's hard to understand the fact that they just can't seem to tolerate me. It is more real than it has ever been now. I can't go out. My grandparents can't go out. People do Netflix parties, they facetime, they stay at each other's houses. I don't. I cook and bake and sleep and that's all. I have even lost my only weapon. I can't go and explore the city by myself anymore. I can't enjoy my solitude. I can't find the power to fly solo. At this exact time, people lose their beloved ones all around the world. Everything is so sudden. It's stupid how we take everything for granted. And if the people I love were to die the next day, unsure whether I love them or not, I would feel guilty. I would feel guilty for not being able to show my love and the fact that I care about them. I realize after all this time, this is not how it's done. This is not how you show people that you care for them. You don't do that by not showing up, by demeaning them, by ignoring them, by treating them like everybody else. You do that by spending quality time, by keeping your promises. You do that by making them feel special. I am now with my friends at Bebek. We are sitting in our favorite restaurant, eating our favorite food. People go past us, seagulls fly above us, a boat stops by the pier. My laughter is filling the air, I try to capture the moment and make it special. I have my friends now and they are all I care. I have my friends now and they know that I care.