Hey, how’s it going?
That casual greeting feels like the perfect way to start this. My name is Steven, and right now, in May 2026, I’m wrapping up my time as a high school student at Galileo Academy of Science and Technology in San Francisco. The city by the bay, the fog rolling in over the Golden Gate, the constant hum of cable cars and MUNI buses—it’s all background noise to the daily chaos and wonder of being a teenager trying to figure out who I am in one of the most dynamic, expensive, and culturally layered cities on Earth. This essay is my long-form attempt to capture what that actually feels like: the pressure, the freedom, the friendships, the failures, the late-night coding sessions, the dim sum runs, the BART rides that smell like wet concrete and ambition. If you’re reading this, maybe you’re a fellow student, a parent, a teacher, or just someone curious about what life looks like for a kid navigating public high school in SF right now.
The Place That Shapes You
Galileo isn’t just a building on Francisco Street near the Marina. It’s a pressure cooker of talent, diversity, and expectations. The school sits in a neighborhood where multimillion-dollar condos overlook public housing projects, where tech workers in Patagonia vests walk past families who’ve lived in the Western Addition for generations. That contrast is baked into every hallway conversation. You’ll hear kids speaking Cantonese, Spanish, Tagalog, Vietnamese, and perfect Silicon Valley English all in the same lunch period. Our robotics team competes against private schools with million-dollar budgets while our football team practices on a field that sometimes floods when the bay pushes back against the sea level rise we’re all pretending isn’t happening.
I remember my first day as a freshman (which already feels like ancient history). I walked through the metal detectors, past the mural of Galileo Galilei staring down at us like he knew we’d all be staring at screens instead of stars, and thought, “Okay, this is it. Four years to become somebody.” The building itself is old—classic SF public school architecture with high ceilings, echoing stairwells, and that faint smell of industrial cleaner mixed with cafeteria tater tots. But inside those walls, something electric happens. Our science and tech programs are legitimately strong. I’ve spent more hours than I can count in the computer lab, debugging Python scripts while the city lights flickered on outside the windows. The teachers who actually care—Mr. Chen in physics, Ms. Rodriguez in English—become lifelines. They stay late, answer texts at 10 p.m. about college essays, and somehow still believe in us even when the district bureaucracy makes everything harder than it needs to be.
Daily Life in 2026
Wake up at 6:15 a.m. in my family’s apartment in the Sunset District. The fog is so thick some mornings you can’t see across the street. Mom’s already making congee; Dad’s checking WeChat for news from relatives back in China. I scarf breakfast, grab my backpack (heavy with a Chromebook, three textbooks I still have to carry because the district hasn’t gone fully digital, and a half-empty Hydro Flask), and sprint to the N-Judah MUNI train. The ride is its own sociology class: tourists with giant North Face jackets, nurses heading to UCSF, kids from every corner of the city glued to their phones.
School starts at 8:40. First period might be AP Calculus or Honors Chemistry. The workload is brutal but fair. We’re expected to take rigorous classes, maintain part-time jobs or club leadership, volunteer, and somehow still have a personality. I’m involved in the coding club, the Asian Student Union, and I play pickup basketball at the rec center after school when my knees aren’t complaining. Lunch is 45 minutes of pure chaos—trading snacks, arguing about the Warriors’ latest game, stressing about the SAT (yes, it’s still a thing), and pretending we’re not all exhausted.
Afternoons bleed into evenings. Some days I stay for robotics meetings where we’re building a robot that can actually navigate the unpredictable SF sidewalks. Other days I’m at the public library on 24th Ave studying because our apartment is too loud when my little sister has friends over. Dinner is usually late—maybe Thai food from the place on Clement or leftover dumplings. Then homework until midnight, maybe squeezing in some gaming or scrolling X (formerly Twitter) where I follow accounts about urban planning, AI ethics, and basketball highlights. Sleep is a suggestion more than a guarantee.
The Bigger Picture: Growing Up in San Francisco
Being a teenager here in 2026 means inheriting a city that’s simultaneously dying and being reborn. The tech boom never really left; it just mutated. AI companies are everywhere. Some of my classmates already have internships at startups that sound like they were named by a Markov chain. Meanwhile, homelessness is still visible on almost every major street, and the cost of living makes college feel both essential and impossible. I’ve watched friends’ families get priced out and move to the East Bay or even farther. I’ve seen kids excel despite unstable home lives. Resilience isn’t optional here—it’s the default setting.
Culturally, it’s a mosaic. I’m proud of my Chinese heritage but I also love hip-hop, K-dramas, and debating philosophy with my Jewish friend who lives in Noe Valley. We argue about everything: whether SF is still “weird” or has become too corporate, whether remote learning was a disaster or a necessary evolution, whether the 49ers will ever win another Super Bowl. Those conversations in the hallways or on late-night Discord calls are where real growth happens.
Mental health is the unspoken epidemic. Everyone posts highlight reels on Instagram, but behind the filters there’s anxiety about grades, college admissions (UCs and CSUs are brutal), social status, and the vague dread that the world is on fire—climate change, geopolitical tension, AI disruption. I’ve had nights where I stared at the ceiling wondering if I’m doing enough. The answer is usually “probably not, but you’re trying, and that has to count for something.”
Looking Ahead
By the time you read this, I might already be filling out college applications or deciding between staying in California and venturing somewhere new. Part of me wants to stay close to family and the city that raised me. Another part wants to see what it’s like to live somewhere with actual seasons or lower rent. I don’t have all the answers. That’s the point of being 17 (or however old I am when this posts). The future is a foggy San Francisco morning—full of possibility if you’re willing to walk through it.
To every other high school student reading this: keep going. The late nights suck, the pressure feels crushing, but you’re building something real. To the teachers: thank you for showing up even when the system doesn’t make it easy. To my family: I see the sacrifices. I love you.
And to whoever stumbles across this random post on the internet: how’s it going with you? Genuinely. Drop a comment. Let’s talk.
This is just the beginning of my story. Galileo, San Francisco, 2026—thank you for the plot so far.