Wow. I’m having a sense of déjà vu.

Actually it isn’t a sense of déjà vu, because I’m actually doing this a second time.

Some of you may not know me, but that’s because somehow, in my tumultuous time at Harvard, I took 5 years to graduate and 2 graduation ceremonies before I finally stand before you today, graduating.

You have no idea how relieved my parents feel.

And after 5 years of Harvard, with my GPA deflating like an old balloon, I’ve started to get a nagging suspicion that maybe, just maybe my secret mission in life is to fail. Do you ever get this feeling?

A friend of mine said, Harvard is like Mr. Darcy.

He’s tall, dark and handsome, and filthy rich.

He dances well, but he’s obviously a stuck up snob, and though you try to ignore him, you find him strangely attractive.

He mysteriously proposes marriage when you’re a senior in high school. And you’re like, What?

Anyway, I was a very obnoxious freshman.

Like every freshman, I entered the hallowed gates of Harvard thinking I was a success. I mean, I was so far gone, I wanted to be in Adams House.

I was going to be a bestselling poet (boy was I delusional!) and save the world while I was at it.

I was going to graduate summa cum laude, with Phi Beta Kappa, surrounded by a crowd of admiring friends and cheering topless men, my parents beaming in the audience while I receive my diploma (well, that part is true, at least! Hi Ma!).

I would triumphantly lead a procession of poetic revolution.

Well, guess what, I’m not.

See, the trouble with Mr Darcy is that, when you finally realize you’re secretly in love with him around about junior year, he’s cold and distant and has ignored you for 2 years since your last hookup, and may or may not remember your name.

And you’re like, is he ever going to actually marry me?

So anyway, at some point during my Harvard career, like Elizabeth Bennet, I had to take a break from Mr Darcy.

I took two semesters off, completely exhausted with the bizarre “it’s complicated” relationship drama, feeling like a failure.

I think this is actually the most important part of my Harvard career, getting away from Harvard.

Because Harvard spurned me. Let me count the ways.

I thought I had brilliant insights, but I was actually just “that guy” in section.

I thought I was attractive. But every boy I propositioned with culturally inappropriate pickup lines such as “when do you knock off? Can I take you to dinner?” mysteriously rejected me.

I thought I was famous, but most people had never even heard of my country.

I thought I was strong, but I got Seasonal Affective Disorder.

I thought I was morally upright, but I spent two exhausting years trying to be smart and dress well and suck up to important people so I would find friends who would tell me they liked me, and that I made good art.

But worst of all, I hurt someone – I hurt someone so badly, in my rush to get to the top, in the rush to climb all those ladders that I saw put in front of me, that I barely recognized it. I broke someone’s spirit. I broke someone’s heart.

This was the failure, the ultimate failure –

And for it, all I can say, is mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa. And I realize I have hurt many people to get where I am today. Sometimes just by turning away from them. Sometimes by seeming too smart for them, and then just not reaching out to them. To those people, wherever they are, I want to say, I am so, so sorry.

I took my second semester off not because I was going to save a species, or start the next facebook, but because I needed to hide under a rock in my parents’ house in Australia, to somehow enact my worst fears of being jobless, dry, whiny, 24 and living with my parents in suburbia, with no friends, no writing, no work, wasting my potential and squandering my Harvard education.

Failure. I was a picture of failure. In Australia. Failure. Australia. It even kind of rhymes.

But you know what, I was given a second chance. And a third chance. And a fourth chance. And a fifth. I don’t even fully understand why. It’s all still whirring away in the dryer of my unconscious being “processed” as I speak.

But you know what? I’m here, now, after five years of Harvard, and I’m finishing strong.

Because in a strange way, after I had accepted I was a failure, I finally began to enjoy Harvard.

I found friends when I stopped worrying about acceptance.

I found inspiration when I stopped trying to perform.

I found Currier, when I stopped fantasizing about transferring.

I found courage when I stopped trying to be a martyr –

Courage to say, look –

I don’t have, at time of writing, a job, an apartment, and scariest of all, a visa –

I have no idea, no clear direction, no money, no plans.

But I have joy in my heart, and a sneaking conviction that maybe, just maybe, my mission in life is to fail beautifully, for the instruction of others.

I REALLY don’t know what to do with this diploma. But I do know that this diploma should open up options, not close them. Like, if I want to be a barmaid, I shouldn’t not be a barmaid because I went to Harvard.

And you know what gives me joy and courage? I came to Harvard hoping to study under a Nobel Laureate. This is before I knew what “Emeritus” meant.

But the best teacher, mentor and counselor I have had here is none other than our very own Yohannes. Hi Yohannes! Please stand up?

You know why? Because he has patience, infinite office hours, and a heart of gold.

And he is so wise. He let me cry when my crushes rejected me.

He listened patiently when I told him I wanted to save the world.

He comforted me when I was drowning in my work, when I felt ugly and fat, when I felt abandoned, and alone, and without a single friend.

I went to his daughter Bethlehem’s baptism.

It was a long service – six hours! Much longer than this speech.

But so beautiful. Yohannes is a deacon of the Ethiopian Orthodox church, and that means he was wearing golden robes and a crown on his head that day.

You know what? When I saw him I had tears in my eyes. Because I thought, that’s how he’s really dressed, every single time I pass him by in Manny’s office. Yohannes is a prince. An elder in the council of elders. If there were any justice at all in the world, he would be dressed in a robe and crown every day.

I think this is what my personal rock star, Jesus, meant when he said the meek will inherit the earth.

Because, really, if there’s anything Harvard has shown me, it’s that the race is not to the swift. Sometimes the swift aren’t even in the race.

I am standing here today because of the enormous privileges I’ve been given which just two generations ago would have been impossible for a Singaporean girl to have.

My mother tells me her mother was a brilliant woman – an investor, an artist, a fashion designer, a woman who taught herself to read and write and taught herself medicine and eventually let a church take over her house.

She didn’t go to Harvard. There was no way she could have gone to Harvard. She barely even went to school. She had her first child when she was sixteen. She was a child slave, sold into slavery by her clan association. I mean, talk about a good admissions essay! She should be standing here, not me.

And all over the world, today, there are people like her, without the opportunities that we have. We are standing here not because we are better than these people, but simply because we have been mysteriously chosen by Mr Darcy.

There is so much human potential pouring down the drain, so much genius that goes untapped, which lives in a slum, in a cardboard box, and will never see the light of day.

How can we not understand that THIS too is failure?

How can it NOT break my heart? How can it not force me to screw up my conviction, to shore up my insecurities, to roll up my sleeves and just do something, anything?

I’m not standing here because I’m more talented or more idealistic or more accomplished than you are.

I’m standing here because I cut off people and hid under a rock.

I’m not standing here because I’m more moral than you.

I’m standing here because the world is broken, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, I can do about it.

Except admit that I have failed.

I am so relieved to tell you I have failed. Because “success” is just a burden I don’t want to carry around anymore.

After all, Mr Darcy won’t marry us. Hell, he won’t even feed us after today.

And we’re supposed to donate to his estate, not inherit it. Although, I must admit, today he looks pretty cute. I’m going to miss him.

I’m standing up here because I’m sad.

I’m standing up here because I’m happy.

I’m standing up here because I’m humbled.

I’m standing up here because I’m proud.

But most essentially of all, I’m standing up here because I’m DONE!

And the world is so beautiful, and there is still so much work to be done.

In conclusion, I want to summarize my entire speech in 10 seconds. Here goes:

If at first all you’ve done is succeed,

Fail, and fail, and fail again.

But for today, let us rest and enjoy the food, the friends, our proud parents and our proud teachers, and the gorgeous, golden sun.

Thank you!

*Tewolde Yohannes was the security guard at Currier House. He was the most important person at Harvard to me.