“Where do you think you’ll go to school next?” my youngest sister asked me as we pulled out of our driveway. As the oldest of three, I was the first to leave home and begin college. As I turned out of the neighborhood I loved, my pulse accelerated just thinking of how different everything was about to become. I was sketching the blueprint for myself. What if I got things wrong?
Choosing Harvard—a school six hours from home—felt like reaching for something big, maybe even impossible. I hoped the campus would be full of ideas, energy, and people who cared deeply about the world. I imagined late-night conversations, opportunities I’d never dreamed of, and the chance to grow into someone braver. I knew I had to take the leap, not just for myself, but so my sisters might feel a little less afraid when it’s their turn.
As I unpacked my life into Wigglesworth Hall and hugged my family goodbye, the excitement of move-in day was blurred with fear. I glanced at the Yard from my new window. Students with boxes and backpacks huddled with their parents merged with upperclassmen leading check-in groups during pre-orientation. My tense expression softened into a slight smile—this would become my community for the next four years. Harvard. I didn’t know exactly what I would find, but I hoped I’d figure out how to make my way.
At first, I tried to navigate college alone—convinced that to lead by example, I had to chart a path solo. It was the mindset I had carried for years as the oldest sibling: stay strong, stay composed, figure it out so others wouldn’t have to. I’ve always tried to be a steady source of support for my younger sisters, even if I lacked confidence in my ability to do so successfully. In my eyes, independence demanded self-reliance, even if it came with uncertainty.
But after a few weeks on campus, that instinct began to crack. I found myself asking questions—about classes, clubs, how to make it all work—and turning to those who had already walked this path. I was surprised to realize I didn’t have to do it all alone. Older students were more than happy to take me under their wing and offer guidance, reassurance, and the kind of peace of mind that only comes from trusting someone who had already done it all. I sought Government concentration advice from my FUP leader, June Park ’24; eagerly awaited article feedback from former Independent Editor-in-Chief Marbella Marlo ’24; and found a home in Harvard’s hip-hop community thanks to Daylan Davis ’25, Liliana Price ’25, and May Jung ’25. For the first time, I felt the presence of something I’d never known before: my version of an older sibling.
Through both academics and extracurriculars, I grew close to students in the years above me—people who pushed me to think more deeply and live more intentionally. Whether we were debating philosophy and science after “GOV 1090: Biotech Ethics” or blocking choreography backstage during Expressions Dance Company’s semesterly show, these older students shaped how I approach ideas, collaborate with others, and imagine the future.
With today’s Commencement, it is the Class of 2026’s turn to become the mentors—the steady presence for younger students that older classes once were for us. Once more, I find myself stepping into the role of the older sibling but now with the insight that comes with the maturity and support I’ve received from my peers.
I’ve watched my senior friends lead the organizations I’m now at the helm of, navigate the classes I’m just beginning to take, and pass responsibility onto the next generation. Like me, they weren’t the very first to hold these roles—each of them benefited from the guidance of those who came before. Being the oldest carries unspoken responsibility—a quiet promise to lead by example.
Embracing that role isn’t always easy. It means carrying the weight of expectations, balancing your own growth with the needs of others, and being idolized as the person everyone looks up to—even when you’re still figuring things out yourself. Leadership, much like caregiving, comes with moments of uncertainty and self-doubt.
But in hindsight, I know that being “the oldest” helped shape who I am today. It taught me responsibility, empathy, and a quiet resilience I’ve come to rely on—especially when facing the unknown. A moment that stands out: last semester in Professor Michael Sandel’s “Gen Ed 1200: Justice,” he asked the 900-person lecture hall how many of us were older siblings. When most students raised their hands, the room burst into laughter—we hadn’t realized how many of us shared the same eldest-child role, shaped by ambition and responsibility. But what I’ve come to understand since arriving at Harvard is that even the “oldest” can learn from others. True leadership isn’t about having all the answers—leaning on your peers builds trust and creates spaces for your community to grow with you.
When I think about the legacy I want to have on Harvard’s campus, I can’t help but reflect on the incredible leaders who came before me and the examples they set. I hope to carry forward their spirit and make a positive difference as I step into my final year.
To the seniors I’ve had the privilege to learn from and grow alongside across Harvard’s campus—I am grateful. Your leadership, insight, and generosity have left a lasting impression on my educational journey and extracurricular experiences. I feel extremely lucky to have met you, to have called you a friend, and to have shared moments that shaped my time here. Know that I’ll always be cheering you on, and I’ll never forget the impact you’ve had on my life—for the better.
Eliza, Andrew, Zayid, Michael, Jude, Seattle, Hannah, Aidan, Kya, Taybah, David, and Mimi—thank you for the creativity, passion, and commitment you’ve brought to the Independent. Your diverse and meaningful contributions—from detailed designs to engaging articles to bold entrepreneurial ventures—have shaped the Independent into what it is today. You embody the spirit of this paper and our mission to champion expression, elevate storytelling, and uphold integrity.
And to the Class of 2025, congratulations. You’ve shaped this campus by improving student life, leading clubs, launching initiatives, and bringing creativity and passion to everything from the arts to advocacy. Your resilience and leadership have set a powerful example for those who follow.
Saying goodbye is never easy—especially when it means stepping into a new chapter. Yet, I’ve learned that there is a unique feeling in being the one who leads, supports, and lights the way for those who come after.
I take the lessons from both of my worlds with me—the two places I call home—harmonizing the strength I gained before college with the guidance I found when I arrived.
So while I say farewell to those who inspired me and prepare for what lies ahead, I carry with me the pride and purpose that comes with being the oldest.
It’s a joy, truly, to hold that place—and to keep moving forward.
Layla Chaaraoui ’26 (laylachaaraoui@college.harvard.edu) is excited for the year to come.