Sara

"Looking back now, I’m so grateful I didn’t do well on the SHSAT. It led me here."

By Students of NYC

October 24^th, 2025

I used to think that a test score decided everything—what kind of student you were, what kind of future you’d have. But looking back now, I’m so grateful I didn’t do well on the SHSAT. If I had, I probably wouldn’t be at this school, surrounded by people I admire so much. My dad always said, it’s not about where you’re learning, it’s about how you learn inside of it.

At Queens Gateway, we do more than just study. We listen to each other. We have seminars instead of debates. Debate calls out who is wrong. Seminars make room for understanding. They give you space to really listen. It can give you a new perspective, or strengthen the one you have. Conversations become more intricate. That's what happens in our classrooms. We acknowledge the other person's belief, and say, I may not agree with how you feel, but I'm willing to listen to you. Spreading love is much more impactful than hate will ever be. Once you spread hate to another person, they are more likely to spread hate to you back. Then, you're down each other's throats. And what good comes from that? I honestly respect my classmates so much. Their voices and how they carry themselves is so amazing to me.

Our class trip to the Tenement Museum changed a lot for me. We met Clint Smith, the author of How the Word Is Passed. He talked about hidden history—how things that are supposed to mean one thing can have a deeper, more complicated meaning that gets covered up. I read the chapter about the Statue of Liberty and learned that there are shackles under her robe, near her feet. The original design actually showed the shackles in her hand to represent the abolition of slavery, but they changed it because people didn’t want to be reminded of that history. Clint Smith said something that really stayed with me: there is power in knowing something is there. Once you know, you can’t unsee it. I think that’s true for everything. When you learn about something you were ignorant to before, you start noticing it everywhere. That’s how I feel now.

In APUSH, my teacher Ms. Pinto showed us pictures from textbooks where slavery was portrayed like people were smiling and having tea. Like as if they were happy, not mistreated every single day. She showed us a picture of a man who had whip wounds on his back, and we learned that they're trying to remove it from curriculum or textbooks because actually because they want to hide America's history. I don't know why some people get to dictate whose story gets to be heard. We shouldn't be afraid to talk about America’s dark history. Like what we talked about with Clint Smith: it’s not about blaming, it’s about accepting what was wrong so we can grow. You can’t fix a problem if you don’t admit it’s there.

That idea connects to real life too. People tease me for saying sorry too much—but to me, it’s a meaningful word. Sorry can be a strength. It doesn’t make you weak. It means you’re acknowledging how something you said or did made someone feel. I try to carry myself in a way that spreads positivity, not negativity. And maybe that’s why I love this school so much. My classmates are all so different—Bangladeshi, Pakistani, Jamaican, Trinidadian, Dominican, Colombian—but when we talk, we realize how similar we are too. Like when Catherine saw a broom and an oil lamp in the Tenement Museum that reminded her of her own home. Everyone jumped in, realizing we all had versions of that same object in our lives. The average person-- we have impactful stories, and they deserve to be heard. Those are the stories I love hearing most.

When I was little, my favorite teacher, Ms. Carrie, made me excited to go to school every morning. I still remember her smile. I would come home, and try to talk like her. My mom says I pick up other people’s traits, and it used to bother me, but now I see it as a compliment. I think it’s human. I choose the parts of people I admire and make them part of me.