By Paulina M.
Paulina, a senior at Pasadena High School, delivered a shorter version of this speech at Pasadena Unified School District’s January 22, 2025 Welcome Back Reopen, Restore, Rebuild & Rise gathering for PUSD staff and faculty. The District organized the event one day before campuses were reopened after the Eaton fire and invited two student leaders to share their perspectives. Paulina has been a member of PUSD’s Student Think Tank since her first year in high school.
Writing in my final stretch of high school, my understanding of this crisis has been framed by my experience with the PUSD Student Think Tank over the last four years. As a group that practices routine mental health “check-ins,” carving out time at the beginning of each meeting to share how we’re each doing, I’ve learned to value giving someone space to share what’s been on their mind. No matter how much work has to be done at that meeting, each member of the Think Tank takes a minute to share as much as they’re compelled to about their day, their week, or their wellbeing. Together, we take the opportunity to process what we’ve been feeling or experiencing.
I’ve been thinking a lot about our “check-ins” recently. At a time when destruction is so all-encompassing that it still feels a bit like fiction, I think it’s crucial to remember that there is immense strength in showing “weakness.”
On Sunday, I saw one of my best friends, Jadyn, for the first time since our houses burned. As we sat together on a bench, without explanation, she laid her head on my shoulder. But it hit me that she didn’t have to say anything for me to understand: along with the weight of her head pressing into my neck were the silent words, “Can I rest here for a minute? I’m not alright.”
Like the carefully configured puzzle of spice jars and cereal boxes that we loved to poke through in Jadyn’s kitchen cabinet, I stacked my head on top of hers in a heavy, unspoken, “I’m lost too. Let’s rest together.”
Interlocked with Jadyn by weakness and fear, I felt stronger than I had in the last two weeks. Because Jadyn and I admitted to one another that our pain was ongoing, and that we needed to lean on one another, I was reminded that I’m not alone in my loss. The sanctuary of our friendship will hold steady, even as the houses that we’ve traded memories in for the last decade stand in rubble and ash.
But the magic I felt then isn’t limited to long-time friendships: it is the same resilience that’s born from community.
When we open ourselves up, showing that cleaved part of our person that is empty, tired, enraged, or confused – when we show our “weakness,” we make space to let each other in – to accept help, and with it, strength, from others. From this connection, there is born a concrete feeling that community – that Altadena, Pasadena, PUSD – is permanent, and does not burn up with the walls of our buildings.
But as this loss struck every corner of our city in multitudes, I’m also hopeful that the adults in my life – my teachers, the staff of PUSD, and every community member who has contributed to our district – will be as honest with me as I am with them about what we’re going through. In the coming months, the strength that each of us needs comes from letting compassion govern our learning spaces. Each of us must support one another to be vulnerable – to reach this point of openness where strength can start to come in. Expressing loss, guilt, displacement, uncertainty – it’s all a reminder that this is a shared experience. Each of us doesn’t have to harbor our hurt alone – instead, we can rely on one another to build our way back. Here is proof, concrete and enduring, that the force that fuels us with hope – human connection – is as powerful as ever, and it will shine a light on the path forward.
