Forgive, but Don’t Forget
A story of failure, self-forgiveness, and a quiet comeback.
Failure at 17 feels different.
It feels personal.
It feels final.
When I was a freshman in college, I stood for the Class Representative election — not because I believed I would win, but because I wanted to break out of my shell.
A teenage boy, fresh out of school, trying to understand who he was and who he could become.
But there was one big problem: I wasn’t fluent in English.
And my presentation skills were… honestly, terrible.
Still, I stood among four candidates, hoping that maybe courage alone would count for something.
The voting happened through a Google Form.
Five minutes later, the professor announced the results.
Before the announcement, we were given a chance to speak.
My moment came.
The entire class looked at me with expectations I couldn’t meet.
My voice shook.
My thoughts scattered.
Words didn’t come out the way I planned.
After barely two minutes, I handed the mic to my friend.
When the results came, I wasn’t just not elected —
I received the least votes in the entire class.
It stung.
But it also taught me lessons I would carry for years:
1. People choose leaders based on trust.
2. Skill matters as much as confidence.
3. Communication is the bridge between you and the world.
4. And leadership isn’t a badge — it’s a responsibility.
The next semester, I started working on myself quietly.
Every day, a little more.
I spoke to professors, asked for feedback, and tried to understand where I truly stood.
One professor told me bluntly:
“Sabari, you have potential, but you need to improve your communication.”
That sentence shook me.
Not because it was harsh but because it was true.
That night, I forgave myself.
Not for the failure — but for not being prepared for it.
And I promised myself one thing:
1. I won’t forget how this feels.
2. I’ll use it.
FRESHMAN YEAR 2022
The Comeback Year
In junior year, the CR position reopened.
The professor asked the class:
“Who wants to be the next Class Representative?”
Silence.
Again she asked.
Still silence.
Then she said,
“If no one volunteers, nominate someone.”
My friends looked at me.
And before I could react, someone said:
“Ma’am, Sabari.”
I froze.
In that split second, I remembered the boy who couldn’t speak confidently…
and now the same class that once rejected him was nominating him.
That moment meant everything.
"It wasn’t a victory over others —
it was a victory over my old self."
I understood one thing deeply:
"When you forgive yourself and grow silently, people notice.
You don’t have to announce your comeback.
Your growth speaks louder."
From struggling to speak a single sentence, I grew into someone who could write, create, communicate, and lead.
Being a CR was challenging, but it shaped me.
It taught me balance, responsibility, and how to think for others — not just myself.
I didn’t forget my failure.
I carried it with me — as a reminder, not as a burden.
And that made all the difference.
SENIOR YEAR 2024
Closing Thought
Failure didn’t break me.
It built me.
"Forgive yourself for who you were.
But don’t forget what made you evolve."
Because sometimes, the smallest failures become the strongest foundations.
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