Camila Miranda-Llovera is a Senior at Winthrop High School. She’s an active member on the cross country and indoor/outdoor track teams, Mock Trial, National Honors Society, STEM club, Student Council, and Quiz Bowl, and has the goal of one day becoming an engineer. Here, she writes about what made her decide to go on an educational tour.
Having my Spanish teacher, Señor Nickerson, means two things. One is that you’ll never forget the subjunctive. The second is that you’ll get the April break trips shamelessly advertised to you.
The Spanish room is covered in flags of places Señor has visited. Spain dominates, with flags of Madrid and Barcelona followed by Italy and a smattering of other flags, but one completely forgets that the wall behind them is white. At every opportunity, Señor would talk about the trips and how great they were, showing us pictures and asking students who went in the past about their experiences. He’d write daily morning announcements talking about gondola rides and the various destinations they would go to. It was hard to focus on pre-calc first thing in the morning when your thoughts were suddenly scattered with images of gelato.
The voyagers came and went, all the while documenting their time via every social media platform they possessed. I felt a pang as I realized I would never go on those trips, resigned to a week of boredom and monotony come April break. The next trip was to England, Ireland, and Scotland, leaving me to wistfully look at my friends sign up before the school year had even ended. This desire however, was not particularly crippling. It wasn’t until the start of my Junior year that I yearned to go on the trip.
Late September I decided to bring up the trip to my parents. Historically, my parents reigned supreme and were not afraid of saying no to my various pleas. I still am not allowed to have sleepovers, but some of their rigidity began to wane once I entered high school, so I had some hope. To my absolute astonishment, my parents were ecstatic about the trip. My father was saying how it would be a wonderful opportunity for me to experience a country I had never been to. We usually go to Mexico to visit our relatives every other year, so this would not be my first time out of the country, but my first time to Europe. Yet despite their encouragement, I became the doubter. I brought up the price and how much overtime my dad would have to do, I brought up the lack of rest I would get that week, that I was losing precious time to get ahead in my studies. The May SATs were only two weeks after the trip. How could I spend my time gallivanting around Europe when my future was compromised at the hands of these tests?
This probably doesn’t make much sense. The trip had been at the back of my mind for months yet when I reached my golden moment, when I evaded the biggest obstacle of getting the okay from my obstinate parents, I told myself no. I told myself that it wasn’t okay for me to go. I have always been a dedicated student, dedicated runner, whatever you can think of. To think that I would lose ten days of getting ahead, that was hard for me to envision.
For a very obvious reason however, saying no just didn’t feel right. Going to a foreign country with a majority of my friends was so rarely offered up in everyday life that it felt very wrong to pass that up. Hesitantly, I told Señor I was going. That hesitation turned to jubilance once my father put the first payment down, and instead of berating myself for allowing me to go on this trip, I started counting down the days.
All my friends had to convince their parents to go on the trip. My parents had to convince me, my father thinking it would be nice for me to be free of school for a while. Admittedly, this was rather difficult to do. Despite the occasional reminders of school and bursts of anxiety, this trip was the greatest thing I could have received. I was able to explore and indulge in life without any restrictions (as long as I did nothing illegal). I was able to see the plush countryside of Ireland, the breathtaking views of Giant’s Causeway, the London skyline, everything I’d only seen in movies up to that point. We walked up the streets of Edinburgh, which are my most poignant memories. Our tour guide took us down the street that Diagon Alley was inspired by, and I was moved to tears. That memory has been forever branded within me, the emotions tucked away for me to open whenever I feel like walking through magic once again.
That’s the main benefit of going on the trip. There are so many memories. They’re all so happy that they make me cry solely thinking about them. One night in Edinburgh, Señor and the other chaperones said we would stay out until dark so we could see the city at night. It had been a while since I had laughed as hard as I did that night. We were singing every song that popped into our head, right in front of Edinburgh castle. Its rigid structure seemed to smile down on us as we did the Cotton Eyed-Joe and the Cha-Cha Slide, waiting for darkness to fall upon the city. I was reminded in that moment how glad I was that I convinced myself to go on the trip, standardized tests thrown to the wind.
I missed fives days of practice, a home meet, and two days of class for this trip. This was what panicked Camila was worrying about when she initially pretended that she didn’t want to go. But it wasn’t the end of the world. I look back on it now and laugh at how distressed I was over this issue. I guess that’s where Señor’s announcements worked. I heard them so often, they were finally able to knock some sense into me.