Nehal Farghaly ’25 delivered the student speech
Good morning President Johnson, board of trustees, distinguished guest Isabel Wilkerson, esteemed faculty, dedicated staff, beloved families, friends, and the incredible class of 2025.
It is such an honor to stand before you today. This moment feels both surreal and deeply real—what we have dreamed about for years has come in a blink of an eye.
Though today we sit side by side in caps and gowns, our stories began in different places across the world. Mine began at 8 a.m., at Cairo International Airport. Nineteen-year-old me stood there, surrounded by my family, about to say goodbye.
I tried to prepare myself for that moment. People say once you pass the security checkpoint, don’t look back—it’ll make saying goodbye easier. So, I tried not to look back. I really did.
But once I passed the checkpoint, I looked back—at my family, and at the life I had built for 19 years. It was everything I knew. And I needed to say goodbye—one last time.
That day, I stepped into the unknown—just like all of us, not knowing what awaited us at Wellesley. And today, we’re doing it again.
We’re saying goodbye to our professors, our deans, our classmates, our friends, and our beautiful campus. We’re leaving behind the life we’ve built these past four years—stepping into another unknown.
And just like the first time we came to Wellesley, this goodbye carries a mix of emotions, excitement for the new beginning, and a little trepidation about what is coming next.
But these past four years have taught me that while I may feel deeply attached to what I left behind, everything I need is already within me.
As we step into this new chapter full of choices and challenges, I want us to reflect on what Wellesley has left within us: not just a degree, but a way of seeing the world; not just skills, but a mindset to guide us wherever we go.
First, to navigate the unknown, we must be curious. We have to be willing to ask: What’s possible? What’s out there? Who am I becoming? At Wellesley, we’ve seen curiosity embraced in every corner of campus where all questions are welcomed.
When a student says, “I’m not sure if this is a good question to ask … ,” professors immediately respond, “Every question is worth asking.” Whether in STEM labs or humanities seminars, our faculty welcomed our questions because they were asking their own, too.
Curiosity wasn’t just encouraged—it was contagious. It became our way of exploring the world and ourselves.
Second, to face the unknown, we must be courageous. We have to be willing to take the first step—to start in a new city, to speak up in a first work meeting, to admit when we are confused, and to keep going when the path ahead is unclear.
We didn’t just talk about courage at Wellesley—we embraced it.
It was walking into office hours and saying, “I don’t understand this, but I want to.” It was raising your hand in a room full of brilliant voices to share an idea you weren’t sure was “good enough.” It was getting into a lab or a studio you didn’t feel ready for—but showing up anyway. It was taking on a leadership role you were hesitant to accept—but choosing to lead anyway.
Third, to move through the unknown, we must have perspective. We have to be able to zoom out, to make sense of complexity, and to hold multiple truths at once.
Wellesley didn’t let us live in a bubble. We studied computer science, classics, environmental science, and political theory. A STEM major wrote a paper on postcolonial literature. A humanities major solved a physics problem. And through it all, we were supported, challenged, and taken seriously.
That’s what makes Wellesley unique: We don’t belong to one discipline—we belong wherever knowledge lies.
That kind of intellectual rigor doesn’t just prepare us for careers; it prepares us for complexity. It teaches us to see connections others might miss, to think across boundaries, and to adapt when the path ahead is unclear.
Fourth, to thrive in the unknown, we must believe in our limitlessness. We have to be bold enough to ask, “Why not?” and even more powerfully, “Why not me?” At Wellesley, so many possibilities began with that simple question.
We saw it in the friend who applied for a prestigious fellowship and got it—not because they were certain, but because they dared to believe they could.
We saw it in the classmate who pursued a research project no one else had done, simply because they thought, “Why not me?”
That mindset—that quiet conviction that we are just as capable, just as worthy—is one of the most valuable things Wellesley has given us.
And we’ve seen it in the alums who came before us—the ones who sat in these same seats and went on to break barriers, write laws, cure diseases, and make a difference in the world.
Now, what I know for certain is that we are ready. We are ready to face the uncertainty that life will bring—equipped with the mindset, the values, and the resilience we cultivated here.
The world beyond this campus will test what we’ve learned. There will be moments of confusion, difficult decisions to make, and limits placed in front of us. In those moments, I hope we remember who we are. I hope we remember the strength we carry as individuals, and the power we hold as a community.
It took more than just our own strength to reach this moment. So, let’s take a moment to honor the people who helped us get here: our families, our friends, and all the loved ones cheering us on, whether they’re sitting here in person or watching from afar.
Two weeks before I left for college, my parents came into my room, and for the first time in my life, I saw apprehension in their eyes. They told me to take care of myself. That was it. Simple words, but I could hear everything behind them—their love, their pride, and their uncertainty.
I’m the first woman in my family to ever travel abroad, let alone to pursue higher education across the world. It was unfamiliar to me, but even more unfamiliar for them. And yet, they let me go, supporting me every step of the way.
That kind of courage—the courage to let go, to support our dreams even when it meant facing the unknown yourselves—is something we will always be grateful for.
To every parent, sibling, grandparent, guardian, teacher, and friend: Thank you for believing in us, and for loving us through every step of this journey. We love you.
And I’d like to translate that thank-you note to my parents in my native language:
شكراً لدعمكوا وحبكوا ليا أنا وإخواتي. إحنا بنحبكوا
Finally, contrary to the advice I was given when leaving home, I urge us all to pause today and look back. Look back at the life you built here—every challenge you met, every fear you faced. You were growing stronger every day.
Look back at the friendships you formed—the late-night talks, the shared struggles, the laughter that carried you through.
We entered as students and left as something far greater—siblings, in one family. Look back at how far you’ve come—not just in achievements, but in the person you’ve become. Take this moment to celebrate yourself. Then take a deep breath, and know: You are ready.
We earned it, we have arrived, and I can’t wait to see where we go next. Congratulations, class of 2025!