LML

Yellow Post-It notes have sprinkled the desks of professionals, students, and obsessive-compulsive list makers for decades. Most people use these fluorescent adhesives to record and remember trivial life events: //Billy’s soccer practice, Mr. Smith’s rescheduled meeting,// or //Sally’s 2 pm haircut//. What could be dangerous, controversial, artistic, or awe-inspiring about these sticky papers? The answer came with a simple English assignment: Start a rebellion. The bell sounded after English class that April afternoon, and I was released into the chaos of the hallway. The air conditioning had not yet been turned on to accommodate the spring heat, and stuck in between two sophomores, I heard an animated conversation. “F--k! I’m having like the worst hair day ever. And I’m failing math. FML!” The other girl giggled and retorted, “Yeah, your life just sucks today.” This was not the first time I had heard the three-letter acronym, FML, emphatically shouted between passing periods. This negative exclamation, short for “F--k My Life,” started as a popular blog and the letters have made their way into Facebook wall postings, teenage mouths, and even students’ classroom notes (right next to the formula for the Pythagorean Theorem). I found something fundamentally wrong with this new lingo, and the superficial complaints of my suburban schoolmates seemed highly unproductive. //We are young and we are alive,// I thought, //so shouldn’t we revel in our youth? I// wanted to remind my peers that there are always moments where you can stop and honestly say, hey, //I love my life//. In my rebellion against teenage pessimism, Post-Its would be my weapon of choice. I made use of my networking tools and bombarded five hundred of my peers via the Internet, text messaging, and phone calls. The directions: get a sticky note, write down something positive that happened during the day, followed by the acronym, LML (Love My Life), and stick it on our school walls. By third period the next day, the halls were doused in a sea of yellow. //Today, I had excellent posture in English. LML// //Today, he smiled at me. LML// //Today we had an assembly, and people clapped for me. LML// The “Love My Life” revolution had gone viral. But it was against the rules. My school’s handbook clearly states that anything that goes on the walls must be approved by the administration. Of course I knew that. I’m one of those kids whose shiny picture is framed upon the wall. It’s next to a row of other distinguished student leaders, who would never do wrong, would never question the sovereignty of student government or the prestige of the shiny frames. But I made one vital mistake. I approached the Student Activities Director as almost an afterthought, thinking that no humane person would oppose such positive propaganda. I was convinced that my request would be approved and even celebrated, so I asked for permission to hold a rebellion. He calmly denied my request. In my years of student government, I had been immune to //NO//, but this time, the two letters burned. I felt my body temperature rising, heat building, palms sweating. “I’m going to do it,” I said, “and I’ll accept the consequences.” And I did. I found myself sitting beneath a poster with the word “leadership” etched in ornate script. I looked across the room and met the stare of my enraged dean. The Student Activities Director entered the room, and the chastisement began--two against one. I was lambasted for my blatant disregard of school policy, and my integrity as a student leader was impugned. Did I think I was “above the rules”? How could I ever “be trusted” again? There were five Post-Its that had been put up out of pure immaturity and bad taste. There were five inappropriate Post-Its, my dean said, that made the whole rebellion a profound violation of the rules. “What if the superintendent saw those nasty words? How would that look?” I wanted to give in, to say I was sorry, shake their hands like a diplomatic politician, and return to Spanish class. Instead, I wiped my tears and said, “But it was the right thing to do. Do you know how many people told me, //Jenny, you made my day?// Those inappropriate Post –Its were only a small price to pay. Can’t you have a little compassion? They shook their heads in elaborately self-righteous disappointment and I walked out of the office with a number of pending detentions and my first rush of self doubt. But words of hope and humanity echoed down the enlightened high school halls that day. I walked down a vacant corridor and came upon a sticky note that recognized the talent and inspiration of a music student who had recently passed away. The songbird’s spirit had helped another get through a college audition. The familiar tears returned, and as I walked past the wall of distinguished leaders, my picture seemed out of focus. Six months later I took my seat in student government at 7:20 am. The LML rebellion seemed like a distant memory, but as the Student Activities Director greeted me with a hesitant salutation, I knew this year would be different. And it is. I feel wariness every time I’m confronted with another simplistic, self-righteous //NO//. My instincts now tell me to fight, my moral compass directing me to distinguish “what is” from what “should be.” I’m trying my best to ward off cynicism, but six months ago, I had an end of childhood experience—an experience that forced me to question the blind faith in the administration. For my entire high school career, I had thrown myself into student government believing that I could make a potential change and assuming that I was being nobly led by my superiors. I’ve questioned whether it’s hypocritical to keep my shiny picture on the wall, and whether significant change is possible in this environment. Sometimes, my battles are fruitless and I can’t always change school policy or administrative action—but I sure can try. And for now, little increments of change are enough, and even my “lost” fights can be the gateway for an optimistic underclassman, ready to question an unjust rule. I’ll continue to work in the face of opposition through the rest of my life, and I’ll continue to work with people who are sometimes afraid to make change. The worst option would be to retreat from these people and hibernate. For three years I was held back by passivity, and I felt okay with just going through the motions. At least I now know that it’s not okay anymore, that it’s not okay to be immune to NO. A few days ago, I dug through my supply drawer and found the infamous yellow papers. I wrote in black ink: I’m awake. LML