Valedictorian Address – Class of 2025

At Marymount International School London, the Class of 2025 recently celebrated the culmination of their International Baccalaureate (IB) journey. One of the most memorable moments of the graduation ceremony was a heartfelt and humorous speech delivered by a graduating student—a reflection that perfectly captured the resilience, curiosity, and shared growth that define the Marymount experience.

In this candid and inspiring address, the speaker reflects on the challenges and triumphs of the IB, from first drafts and missed deadlines to unexpected experiments that sparked entire clubs. With vivid storytelling, she reminds her classmates that success isn’t about perfection—it’s about persistence, teamwork, and the willingness to learn through trial and error.

Her story, which includes everything from launching a DIY rocket to turning academic setbacks into stepping stones, resonated deeply with students, families, and faculty alike. It’s a speech that speaks to the heart of a Marymount education: global, growth-oriented, and grounded in community.

Read the full graduation speech below and be inspired by the journey, humour, and hard-earned wisdom of one exceptional Marymount graduate…

As I stand here today, I am fascinated by and grateful for the simple fact that the Class of 2025 is gathered here together in this building right now, in this very moment. We have journeyed on such different paths to arrive here, coming from countries far and wide, and we will soon go on to harness both our individual and our collective potential in countries and continents around the world.

We speak different languages, we have different passions, fears and talents. Yet, we are all here together at this crossroad in our lives.

As I reflect on my time at Marymount International School London and our collective adventure through the IB, my mind does not dwell on all the important milestones we had along the way. Instead, my memory prioritises all the “firsts” we had and the courage it took to take those first steps. The moment when we tried something completely new. Unsure of what we were doing but willing to give it a shot anyway.

Whether it was our first draft of our Internal Assessment, our first Creativity, Activity and Service reflection (CAS), or our first experience with missing a deadline – we were practically on a never-ending learning curve. And to be honest, we were not exactly brilliant at the beginning. And that is fine.

What I have come to realise is that there is something deeply honest and humbling about admitting you are not good at something – yet. But that “yet” is everything. If we were perfect from the start, aced every test, got an A and 7 in everything, there would be no growth, no discovery and honestly? No fun. The pride we feel today does not stem from always getting it right – it originates from knowing how far we have come.

I’d like to tell you a story. One that I think encapsulates the IB quite well. Two years ago, I found myself to be very bored during the summer and as one does, I looked up how to make rocket fuel. To my surprise, it did not seem that complicated: all you need is potassium nitrate and sugar. I did not have potassium nitrate lying around the house, but luckily, my grandparents live in a farmhouse. So with the help of my uncle, we scraped it off the old brick walls. Fuelled by curiosity and questionable decision making, we built a rocket. It did not fly very high, but it did something far more important: it sparked an idea. That moment paved the way for what is now known here at Marymount International School London as the Marymount Astro Physics and Aerospace Research Society or simply MAARS club – a team of twelve brilliant students who went on to build our very first model rocket together.

We built this rocket despite having no clue about what we were doing. It was badly constructed, it had holes, was not airtight, had questionable structural integrity and was probably more than an explosive than a rocket. And that, to me, perfectly

 represents the start of the IB. Not the explosive part, but the trial and error. The honest messiness of learning.

The first lab report or essay you wrote probably had some literary holes that needed patching. The first artwork you made may have looked better in your head. The first economics paper you wrote probably sounded like more of a conspiracy than an analysis of supply and demand. None of us knew how to write an extended essay, we just opened a blank document and started somewhere. Maybe with a title, maybe not even that.

I will never forget the time we first tested the rocket. Expectations were sky high, stratospheric you might say, as we hoped that it would launch safely and return to earth with the egg intact. However, to our dismay, the parachute did not deploy, and the rocket came hurtling down at us at incredible speed with the hard egg turned into scramble egg.

But we learned, we got better, we rebuilt, rethought, and retired. 

But like any rocket, we did not get off the ground alone. Behind every semi-successful launch was a whole team; friends who helped duct tape things back together when they started to fall apart; teachers who stood by as our mission control; and family who were always there to remind us that crashing once did not mean that we would not eventually fly. In those moments, when it felt like we were spiralling out of control or stuck on the launchpad, it was the people around us who gave us the extra push. Over time that momentum built and looking around today, I think it is truly safe to say: we have begun to take off. Perhaps the German writer, philosopher, and polymath Johann Goethe, best encapsulates the correlation between failure and success when he writes:

‘By seeking and blundering, we learn’ – Goethe

As I reach the end of my speech, I want to take a moment to compliment the class of 2025 behind me. You are, without a doubt, some of the most determined, courageous and resilient people I have had the pleasure of meeting. I have seen you power through essays on barely enough sleep, fuelled by an absurd amount of coffee and a even more absurd belief that you could still finish it before the deadline, and somehow, you always did. I have no doubt that each of you will head out into the world and take on adulthood with the same spirit. And sure, you might not get everything right the first time – but if the IB has taught us anything, it is that we grow, we learn and eventually we soar.

Thank you.

Annika – Class of 2025 Valedictorian