One Last Time: A Reflection on “Hamilton” and Graduation

Avani Bhargava ‘16, Editor-in-Chief

It is a peaceful Wednesday evening at the library. While the sparsely populated haven of learning surrounds its inhabitants with restful tranquility, in my earbuds, Alexander Hamilton delivers a sizzling comeback in rap form to fellow debater Thomas Jefferson. True to this high-energy song’s title, “Cabinet Battle #2,” after Hamilton’s fiery burn, the Cabinet erupts into a chorus of shocked oohs.

It probably sounds weird that I can listen avidly to a rap song about a powdery-white-wig-wearing, eighteenth-century man discussing the viability of American intervention in the French Revolution… and relate wholeheartedly to facets of his experiences. But I’m not the only one. From students at Ridge High School to public figures such as Beyoncé, Stephen Colbert, and President Obama, Hamilton: An American Musical strikes a chord with just about everyone who sees it—or listens to its roughly two-hour-long cast recording with breath bated, like me.

Moments in the musical resonate differently with every listener. There are moments that astonish me with their wit (“fits of passion…pits of fashion”), moments that stir up my deepest levels of empathy, moments that send my mind racing about my future. As I approach the end of senior year and my sentimentality-to-mellowness ratio skyrockets, I want to explain what some of those moments are for me.

“My Shot” – “Hey yo, I’m just like my country / I’m young, scrappy and hungry”

After Hamilton’s grueling efforts to reach America have succeeded, he declares—with an eagerness that energizes his new companions—his determination to prove his worth and start life on his own terms. He will not give up, and his future will inevitably intertwine with America’s own coming of age. I feel the rawness of his desire to establish his own identity and carve out a path for his life. Every tear, every drop of sweat that has gone into our high school experiences has laid the foundation for the next stage of life, when we can more freely shape the direction of our futures. The idea of having multitudes of options ahead—in terms of classes, friends, resources with which to purse my passions, and a freedom to explore—invigorates me. I can’t wait.

“Non-Stop” – “How do you write like you’re / Running out of time? / Write day and night like you’re / Running out of time? / Ev’ry day you fight / Like you’re / Running out of time.”

A symphony of voices expresses disbelief at Hamilton’s unparalleled work ethic, pleading with him to focus on his loved ones, indicating that Hamilton has both found and lost himself in his work. As Hamilton becomes more instrumental to the government, he not only remains dissatisfied with his achievements, but manages to lose his loved ones in a sea of papers and ink. Hamilton’s dogged persistence in the face of endless challenges and obligations eventually leads to his demise; the song represents the blurring of balance in his life. The discussion of diligence makes me think fondly of the Class of 2016’s arduous efforts these past four years—but also reminds me about the finiteness of time. We must treasure the moments in our hometown in the next few months, and, once in college, we should once again find a happy medium between work and play. The song serves as a reminder that independence does not mean isolation—a fulfilling life comes from shared appreciation and love.

“One Last Time” – “‘Why do you have to say goodbye?’ ‘If I say goodbye, the nation learns to move on.’”

The end of George Washington’s time as leader represents the beginning of the nation’s—and Hamilton’s—realization of true independence. As Hamilton offers every excuse for Washington to continue leading the country—to set a precedent, to be viewed as strong—he dreads losing someone who serves as both the backbone of the nation and his main source of personal stability, comfort, and support. As I grapple with the idea of moving into college and away from my family—who have always been my most loyal cheerleaders, friends, and teachers—Hamilton’s apprehension makes sense to me. It sounds unnatural to move away from people so integral to our development; but, as Washington mentions, it is necessary for our growth to achieve full fruition. Listening to Washington’s kind logic reminds a nostalgic-me that I will truly transition to adulthood through complete independence.

As the last, hopeful notes of “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story” fade away, I reflect on my own story thus far and how it will proceed moving forward. After Hamilton’s death, his wife Eliza, a woman who represents love, forgiveness, and determination, steps forward to remind the audience that we have the power to determine our happiness, to help others, to use our time to the best of our abilities. We have this power as we move out of the halls of Ridge and into cavernous lecture halls and shared dorms this fall. In the history of America, we’ve never had this many choices. Just “look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now.”