Big Beautiful Bill: A Dream Differed? 

It was supposed to be a new chapter the moment students had waited years for. Applying for college, college tours, acceptance letters, late-night dorm room visits as well as Pinterest boards. But ever since Trump’s Big Beautiful Bill passed, everything changed and a lot of dreams were broken. 

For many students, especially the ones who can’t afford to just “figure it out,” the question is no longer “where will I go to college?” It’s, will I even go at all?” 

The name sounded good, like something hopeful, to the point where some parents were so excited to see Trump was finally doing something important for the kids in this community, it was a celebration, a promise, a fix!

Unfortunately, it all turned out to be a pathetic opportunity for him to yet again only think about himself and the power he has; it wasn’t an opportunity, it was erasure!

This bill was targeted to bring down the education system and enforce all these rules, like sweeping cuts to need-based financial aid, eliminating state-funded scholarships, narrowing federal grant eligibility and raising the requirements for financial aid. 

I truly believed it would affect the Class of 2025, and I panicked. I started wondering what I was going to do. Would I have to give up on college? Could I even afford to go anymore? For a while, everything felt uncertain.

Thankfully, the bill passing ended up being false information at the time, and I was relieved to learn it wouldn’t affect me directly. That gave me a sense of hope again, a chance to move forward with the future I’ve worked so hard for.

Now that I know this isn’t just a rumor but a reality set to hit the Class of 2026, my heart sinks for them. It’s a strange kind of guilt knowing I might just slip through the cracks unharmed, while those just one step behind me could be walking into a storm, knowing the students coming right after me may not get the same opportunities.

Imagine starting the last four years of high school off strong continuing to build a bridge so that hopefully they can make it to graduation by doing one late night assignment at a time maybe with the help of ChatGbt, one extra curricular, one volunteer shift to get those volunteer hours in, and working on college essays so they can get into their dream school.

Now imagine standing at the edge, ready to cross, especially that stage for graduation, only to find that half the bridge is gone.

That’s what it feels like for so many rising seniors.

Students who were already balancing so much school, part-time jobs, and family responsibilities are now being told by a piece of paper that they have to do even more just to get what used to be guaranteed for everyone.

If no one is going to speak up about the effects this bill has caused on so many high school students, then I will; we are not powerless. We’re far from that. If they try to bring us down and pull up planks, we can fight back by building new ones. 

• Information is a plank. Counselors, college access nonprofits, and community centers can host urgent aid nights, FAFSA help, appeal letters and verification checklists so paperwork doesn’t become the reason a dream dies. 
• Community is a plank. Mutual-aid funds, fee waiver drives, and scholarship sharing circles can help cover application fees, test fees, and enrollment deposits that stop students at the last inch of the bridge.

• Options are planks.  Two-year to four-year transfer pathways, honors programs at community colleges, and paid apprenticeships can be strategic, not “less than,” just different routes across. 
• Pressure is a plank. School boards, state reps, and local media need to hear real story names being changed if necessary, truth unchanged regardless. If a policy erases opportunity, it should have to face the people it erases.

To the Class of 2026, your work still matters. Your essays still matter. Your late nights and early mornings still matter. The system may be colder, but your effort isn’t smaller. If the bridge isn’t there, we’ll build it. If the rules shift, we’ll learn them faster. If the door narrows, we’ll find the hinge.

To the adults who cheered for anything with a shiny name, stop calling it beautiful while kids are budgeting their futures down to the last dollar. Call it what it is. And then help fix it, really fix it. 

To my class the year of 2025, don’t look away. Reach back. Share links. Share rides. Share scholarship spreadsheets. Sit with a friend while they fill out forms. Celebrate every yes, and when a no comes, sit with that too. Bridges are made of miracles; they’re made of hands.

This was supposed to be a new chapter. It still can be. Not because one bill says so, but because we refuse to let a headline decide the size of our hope. We’re still here building, crossing, and making room for the next person behind us.