Good afternoon, members of the platform, faculty, staff, parents and most importantly the class of 2026.

When I was told I’d be giving the valedictorian address, I had one very simple question: “Are you sure you have the right Julian?”

I asked them to double-check. I genuinely thought there’d been a mix-up.

Because somewhere out there are a bunch of my grade-school teachers, and if they find out that I’m standing up here as valedictorian, I imagine a few of them would not believe it.

I’m joking. But only partly. Because for most of my life, the idea of me standing here would have sounded like a punchline to me, too.

By the age of 7, I was diagnosed with severe ADHD. By then, I had already failed grade 3. I was constantly moved around schools in hopes of finding a better fit for me. Eventually, I reached sec 1, where I did not fail it once, twice, but I repeated it three times. There is a certain commitment in that number I’ve made peace with.

Tout au long de ma vie, on m’a toujours dit que l’école n’était pas faite pour moi. Que les études supérieures n’étaient pas accessibles pour moi et que je devrais trouver une autre voie.

Après avoir redoublé une année, on commence à y réfléchir. Après deux redoublements, on commence à y croire. Et au troisième, on en est complètement convaincu.

I wanted to give higher education a shot before putting a bar on it. When I first got to Dawson College, I was not aiming high. I remember sitting in my very first class, thinking: “Wouldn’t it be incredible to just pass? Wouldn’t 60% be amazing?”.

My first exam was a psychology test. I studied every single day, for hours, hoping to pass. I was frankly terrified confronting the possibility that CEGEP was not for me. When I finally viewed my grade, to my surprise it was 85% while the class average was 60%.

After much disbelief, consumed by imposter syndrome I closed Omnivox and reopened it several times to make sure it was not a bug. Wondering if the system that had spent fifteen years telling me what I couldn’t do had finally made an error in my favour.

But it was not a mistake. And it wasn’t the last time. That 85 turned into the honors list, semester after semester, until the surprise wore off and it just became who I was.

What I came to understand at the beginning of my journey at Dawson was that: the problem had never been my intelligence. Rather it was the fit. It was how I’d been taught. Not what I was capable of. And suddenly the work that started in high school continued onto CEGEP with professors who kept their doors open, services that met me where I was. The story I’d been told about myself started to come apart.

Everyone’s journey is different, and mine would not have been possible without the support of so many people. I can’t name everyone, but a few mattered especially.

To Nancy Rebelo, my profile coordinator. Thank you for letting me be part of something bigger than myself, and for showing me that opening doors is work worth doing.

To Cynthia De Luca. You were the first to hold me to a higher standard, and you helped me see that the story I’d been ashamed of was actually my greatest strength.

To Marie-Pierre Gosselin, who taught me to love education itself; and to Kasia Wolfson and Timothy Slonosky, who helped me rebuild the confidence school had nearly taken from me.

À mon école secondaire, Vanguard, qui m’a donné une deuxième chance. Nairy, Fatima, Daniel, qui ont cru en moi bien avant d’avoir raison.

À mes parents, à Lise, merci de m’avoir transmis l’importance de l’éducation si jeune, et pour votre soutien.

À Olivia Tsokos, Zack Mackey et Christian Ghazzoul, merci d’avoir fait de cet endroit bien plus qu’une simple école.

And to everyone else who helped along the way. Thank you.

Looking back, every exam I passed was an act of resistance. against everything I’d been told about how I learn. Against the quiet message that every bad grade had sent me: that a number could measure my worth, that a report card could decide who I was allowed to become.

I am not standing here today because of a system that worked for me. Rather, because I refused to let it have the final word.

This diploma is proof that the verdict it handed me was wrong. I’m sure I am not the only one in this room who had to fight for their place here.

Some of it was shared, even if we never talked about it.

The seat you silently claimed by week two and quietly defended like was your name on the lease.

The way an entire classroom would inhale at the exact same second when a teacher said the words “this won’t be on the final.”

My struggles were just the most visible form of a feeling everyone in this graduating room has carried. Mine were written on report cards, for the whole world to see. Most of yours weren’t. Every single person in these seats carried something to make it onto the stage. Some of you in Social Sciences, some in Business Technologies. All of you with a weight most people in this room never saw. The exam you couldn’t afford to fail. The 2 AM doubts you had to talk yourself out of. The quiet voice telling you that you won’t succeed or belong here.

Voici le message que je veux que vous reteniez de mon histoire. Ce ne sont pas les échecs. Ce n’est pas mon succès. C’est ceci :

Votre parcours ne définit pas votre potentiel. Pas s’il est plus lent. Pas s’il est plus difficile. Pas s’il vous a fallu trois essais de plus pour y arriver.

If my path taught me anything worth passing on, it’s two things.

The first; Don’t wait to believe in yourself. Start, and let the belief catch up. I didn’t get to Dawson believing I’d be successful, I walked in hoping for a 60. The proof came first; the confidence came after. So whatever it is you’re afraid you can’t do, start it anyway, and let the results argue with your doubt.

The second: surround yourself with people who hold you to a higher standard than you’d hold yourself. The world had already placed a label on me. But along the way, I met people who refused to see that label and saw the true potential that even I couldn’t see. They’re the reason I walked into CEGEP at all. So find those people. And one day, become one of them for someone else.

Quand je repense à la version de moi qui venait de finir le secondaire, qui entrait à Dawson en espérant simplement obtenir la note de passage, qui ne savait même pas s’il avait sa place ici. Cette version de moi me semble aujourd’hui presque comme quelqu’un qu’il faudrait me présenter.

Je ne pense pas être le seul. Certains d’entre vous sont assis ici aujourd’hui en étant devenus des personnes que leur version plus jeune n’aurait même pas reconnues.

Que vous soyez arrivés ici en ayant de la difficulté, ou déjà en excellant, mais avec la peur silencieuse de ne pas être à la hauteur, chacun d’entre nous repars d’ici transformé.

So I’d like to thank Dawson for the amazing learning environment. You didn’t just get us through Dawson, you got us ready for whatever’s next. The system isn’t perfect, but Dawson is proof of what the better part of it looks like: a place where a student who failed year after year can walk across this stage as valedictorian.

We are not defined by our worst semesters, our slow starts, our shortcomings, rather we are defined by our grit.

No single path brought us here, and no single path decides where we go next. So walk yours boldly. Congratulations, class of 2026.