The Fueled By Ramen Analysis

“And now I present to you, UCLA’s valedictorian for the class of 2008, Chelsea May Cabado,” announced the dean.

My heart pounded inside my chest as I rose from my seat and took my spot behind the podium. I adjusted the mic to accommodate my 5 foot 6 inch height and took a deep breath. I scanned the crowd and found my family beaming at me and giving me many thumbs up signs. I took another deep breath before beginning the speech that I had drilled into my head for the past few days.

“Good afternoon, family, friends, staff, and fellow graduates. I’ll try to keep this speech short and simple since it’s incredibly warm out here and also for my lack of skill in the public speaking department,” I smiled, earning many laughs from the crowd. “This all seems so surreal, it‘s like it was just yesterday that I was new to the UCLA campus and signing up for various undergraduate courses here. But now, here I stand before you with many others who have successfully graduated from UCLA’s Graduate School of Medicine. I can now fully understand why everyone says time flies by fast. To be honest, I really don’t think I deserve this honor of being the class of 2008’s valedictorian. Throughout the years I’ve met various figures that have definitely made an impact in my life. I would trade spots with them in a heart beat,” I continued, looking right at the people I was talking about. “Although some of us, like myself, don’t know what we’re going to do with our lives after all of this is over and done with, and some of us know exactly where we’re headed, I don’t have a doubt in my mind that we’ll be successful in whatever life presents us. Class of 2008, I want to be the first to say congratulations for accomplishing this amazing feat. Thank you.”

As everyone stood up and applauded, I mouthed, “One, two, three.” On three I flipped my tassel to the other side and threw my cap up into the air. As I did so, all the other graduates followed suit with huge smiles on their faces, reflecting my own.

After catching my cap and placing it back on top of my shiny black hair that had been loosely curled just hours before, I walked off the stage and ventured out into the mass of black-gown clad graduates in search of everyone I had met throughout my years at UCLA. Pictures were taken along with many congratulations and “we better keep in touch” ‘s being passed. I was even stopped by various strangers, who asked to have a picture with me. After what felt like hundreds of pictures, I finally found my whole family.

“Congratulations anak,” my parents said in unison, talking in our native tongue, Tagalog.

“Child? Why are you calling me a child?” I joked, giving both of them a big hug.

“Chels, you will always be our child no matter what. You may be a 22 year old with the knowledge of a scholar, but to me you’ll always be my baby,” my mom said, starting to cry.

I pecked her cheek and went on to hug all my other family members that had traveled far and wide to come see me graduate. They all congratulated me and handed me small white envelopes before insisting that we take many pictures, solo and group ones. As I did all this I scanned my family members faces for the one that I was hoping to see the most.

“Ahem,” my cousin Chad, fake coughed.

“Chad!” I screamed, jumping into his arms. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be some hotshot chef in Chicago?”

“Oh well, I pulled some strings to get vacation time to see one of my favorite cousins graduate. Congratulations, Chelsea. I’m really proud of you. First you skip kinder garden and first grade, and now you’ve managed to speed right through your college and graduate education. You definitely deserve this,” he said, handing me a small box.

I scrunched up my nose as I took the box from his hands. I looked from him, to all my aunties, uncles, and cousins, to my sisters and parents, and then finally my grandparents. They all smiled widely as they motioned me to open it. I pulled the yellow ribbon off of the light blue box and gasped at what was inside.

“How…. how could you afford this?!” I stuttered, wide-eyed, as I took the keys to a BMW out of the box.

“Oh believe me, we all love you, but we couldn’t possibly buy you an extravagant car like that, it would show favoritism,” Chad explained. “You’ll see who it’s from soon enough.”

My whole family started walking to the parking lot as my heart sped faster in anticipation. Millions of questions raced through my mind.

Who bought this car for me?

Why did they buy it for me?

When will all my questions be answered?

I didn’t have to wait long though, because right when my family stopped, I noticed a gleaming charcoal gray BMW x5 4.8i. I licked my lips at how delicious my new SUV looked, but I couldn’t help but wonder who financed it. As I examined the car up and down I noticed someone was already in the driver’s seat.

“Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III?!”