 Welcome friends family and most importantly the graduating class of 2018. I feel humbled and honored to stand here today. It's funny this moment right now reminds me a lot of my first day here at Berkeley. Of course there are slightly more people watching and I'm arguably a little bit taller. Of course I do have a tendency to round up that last half an inch so who knows. Regardless my hands are just as clammy as they were four years ago. I remember sprinting to Kim 1A with my backpack flopping back and forth behind me filled with far more books than you could ever need on your first day. When I was reflecting on this moment I couldn't quite fathom why I ran so quickly that day. In fact I now know it only takes five minutes to walk from Donal to Pimentel and there was absolutely no need to run. But now I understand why I ran so quickly that day. Coming into Berkeley I had a dream of achieving extraordinary goals and I had some gleaming hope that Professor Arnold that very first day of Kim 1A would provide me all the answers to solving my goals. Unfortunately Sylvester of Kim 1A did not provide those answers. No offense Professor Arnold. Although you did help me find my one true love here at Berkeley. Chemistry. A subject that has changed my life so profoundly. But throughout my freshman year as I felt more and more in love with drawing those funny-looking hexagons and pentagons I began to lose sight of who I was. I became obsessed with what I thought was success. Like getting a standard deviation above the mean on that midterm or landing that wildly acclaimed internship. I lived in constant fear that I wasn't going to make the cut. Success was a resume and I had fully ascribed to it. I left Berkeley at the end of that year feeling hollow and empty. It wasn't until I spent time with my family that summer that I began to see things more clearly. My brother was born with a unique hand of genetic cards. In fact mathematically he's won in 2.7 million and he is exactly just that. One in a million. Far stronger and far more resilient than any of the other 2 million 699,999 people. He has drafted his own definition of success in life. A definition composed of spreading infinite joy to those around him and appreciating life's everyday tiny details. He forced me to reframe my experience here at Berkeley. When I returned I started becoming more aware of the small things that I encountered every day. That GBC cashier that took that extra minute to wish you a good day. That warm Berkeley sun sitting on the glade watching people play quidditch. A sport I still can't quite grasp my head around. That classmate you always thought was a little extra cute who smiled on your way out of class. Those roommates who listen to you practice your commencement speech a hundred times over. I began to notice these small moments in my academic life as well. Despite the media's glorified portrayal of scientific discovery, research is a gradual process. Filled with failure. You can spend weeks in love prepping DNA and packaging virus only to begin an experiment. An experiment that might fail the first three times around. At first I was frustrated by the seemingly mundane and insignificant tasks constantly caught in a crippling fear of the failure of the larger study. However, as I began to focus more on these everyday experiments treating each mini prep as important as last. This fear began to disappear. In fact, it was the optimization of these smaller experiments that ultimately led to the overall success of a study. Berkeley has taught me these lessons time and time again. However, perhaps the most substantial one was in a joint Best Buddies. An organization committed to forming one-on-one friendships with people with intellectual and developmental disabilities. The friendships that I have formed there have brought intense vibrancy into my life. This is why it pains me so much to see that these members of society are being ostracized and diminished. They and many others are constantly being barred from health care, education and legal representation. An exclusionary stigma that will be the legacy of our generation. So we must ask ourselves, is this what we want to be known for? At a Best Buddies hangout this past March, one of my buddies told me that she was applying for a job at Safeway in Oakland. She wanted to tell me how much she prepared for the interview and how she badly she wanted the job. The next time I saw her she didn't mention it so I didn't ask how it went. A couple of weeks ago at our very last hangout, she ran up to me with the widest smile I have ever seen and told me that she had just finished her very first day the day before. She was so proud as was I. She knew that she could take on this job. She knew that she could thrive. If only she was given the chance. This was an opportunity for her show that while others may think she's small, she can contribute value to society. That she shouldn't live within limits that others have set on her. That while these accomplishments are often belittled, they are vital. Now here we are. Degrees in hand and half an inch taller. Four years ago I thought success was manifested in resume worthy accomplishments. Today I'm convinced it's not. This definition of success leads to the fear of failure and blinds us from finding joy in the small things. The extraordinary qualities in our every day. Perhaps we could all find more success if we wish that GBC cashier a good day back or said hi to that cute classmate. We leave here today with a unique toolbox of knowledge and it is now our choice how we want to succeed. Fiat lux my friends and go Bears!