What Happened to the Wunderkind?

by Monserrat Martinez Medellin

Back in primary school, it was a tradition to hand out diplomas (mere printed A3 sheets with stock illustrations and your name printed on it in Comic Sans) to the kids with the highest grade average of each month. There was a tier, naturally: third, second, and first place. They would be handed out in a small ceremony on the last Friday of the month, and the awardees would be given some candy along with the diploma.

I always made first place. The diplomas piled and piled up, so much so that my parents were forced to shred some to make room for new ones, or cut them up and use them as post-it notes. I knew I’d never get to know what being a gifted student would be like, but in times like those, I came close. A kid even made a bet with the teacher once: if I got a perfect grade on the biology test, he would shave his head. He lost. I know this will sound like a flex, but please realize that the gestures were meaningless and would end up backfiring years after.

In high school, things shifted. My grades slipped, not to the point where it was concerning, but enough to make me miss the diploma days. Whenever I felt myself losing control of my academic prowess, I tried filling the void that surfaced with something else. A game of tit for tat. I joined the high school musical productions and aimed for lead roles. I asked to sing the solos at the choir performances. I wanted to serve the full Rachel Berry fantasy, and more. I volunteered to helm events, assist with tutoring, spearhead projects — anything to make my name known. Anything to make up for whatever I lacked. Or, as the author Suzanne Rivecca once wrote, anything to make up for the fact that it was me

"The diplomas piled and piled up, so much so that my parents were forced to shred some to make room for new ones, or cut them up and use them as postit notes"

It worked. It worked, because I got good feed back from teachers and loud cheering when my name was read out at the graduation ceremo ny. It worked because I felt useful, and feeling useful meant feeling smart, and feeling smart meant feeling successful. You made it, kid. You’ve got what it takes. You’ll go places, that’s for sure — whenever I heard words like these, my ego would grow. However, so would the ex pectations to do them justice. Expectations not from others, but from myself.

In 2019, I marched into UCU with no intention clearer than to meet them. I had a plan, a study schedule, and I was riding the high only ACDC Econ and Khan Academy videos could provide. When the first introductory courses felt okay, and I let out relieved sighs whenever I checked OSIRIS, I (mistakenly) thought the hardest part had passed. Drunk on this delusional comfort, I became convinced that it would be smooth sailing from then onwards.

I wouldn’t be writing this article if that had been the case. Of course it was not, and I was an idiot for assuming it would be.

“Whatever happens, do not compare yourself to others,” my Introweek parents said over and over. It’s like I didn’t listen. Now I think back to the diplomas, to the kid in my class and his dumb bet,

Blackboard. I look in the mirror, catching the twitch in my eye I’ve inherited from my dad, and realize how big of an imposter I feel like.

"I was riding the high only ACDC Econ and Khan Academy videos could provide"

I look around me and see politicians in the making, musical theatre performers with Broadway potential, and dancers who would easily get the Golden Buzzer if they performed at a talent show of sorts. Van Gogh and Da Vinci reincarnates galore. I see natural event planners, award-worthy video editors and musicians, and innate interior designers by the dozen. Why do I get to rub shoulders with such talented people? What have I done to deserve that kind of honor?

What happened to that wunderkind? I wonder if she would like where she is now. I think of her often, but I doubt she would like the person I