Naomi Mekonnen (B.S. '26, Interior Design) addressed her fellow Eskenazi School graduates May 8, 2026 at the IU Auditorium during the school's degree recognition ceremony. Mekonnen will be continuing her education at the Harvard Graduate School of Design, where she will be pursuing Design Studies with a focus on narratives. Mekonnen was chosen as student speaker through a competitive process in which a committee of school faculty and staff evaluated proposals submitted by top students across the five undergraduate programs of the Eskenazi School of Art, Architecture and Design, situated within the College of Arts and Sciences.The following is a transcript of the remarks she gave at the ceremony.
Good morning everyone.
To my peers, our families, friends, faculty, and everyone who made sure we made it to this stage today.
My name is Naomi Mekonnen, and I am an interior design major within the Eskenazi School.
Dean Faimon, thank you for trusting me with the responsibility of speaking on behalf of this class.
It truly means more than I can put into words.
My story starts in the year 2000.
Two people leaving everything they knew behind.
Fleeing war in Ethiopia, arriving in a country where they had nothing but each other—and a belief that life could be better.
My parents worked tirelessly so that one day, I could stand here.
As their only child.
As a first-generation college student.
As someone doing something no one in my family has had the opportunity to do before.
So when I stand here today, I’m not standing alone.
I am standing as a continuation of their sacrifice.
And that perspective changes how you move through spaces like this.
Because the truth is, not every space was built with all of us in mind.
During my first week here, someone wrote something hateful on a whiteboard.
And while that moment was shocking, what stayed with me was this:
That experience wasn’t just mine.
It reflects something bigger about who feels seen, who feels safe, and who gets considered when spaces are created.
And as designers, that matters.
Because accessibility is not just about dimensions and codes.
It’s about listening.
It’s about empathy.
It’s about whether people feel like they belong.
When I started learning about human-centered design in my Eskenazi School courses, it reinforced what I had learned through experience.
Growing up in Chicago, the child of refugees, shaped me into someone who observes deeply and adapts quickly.
But it also came with challenges.
I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression my whole life, with questioning my place in the world.
And coming into college, that didn’t disappear.
If anything, the pressure made it louder.
Because when your parents have sacrificed everything for you to be here, it can feel like there is no room to fall.
But what I’ve learned is that growth doesn’t happen without discomfort.
And strength doesn’t come from having everything figured out.
It comes from continuing anyway.
I walked into my first day of class with the wrong computer, already feeling behind.
I questioned whether I belonged.
And even now, that feeling hasn’t fully gone away.
But over time, I realized something:
Belonging is not something you wait for.
It’s something you build.
Through the values that this program is built on, through mentorship, and through the people who supported me, I began to grow into that understanding.
Associate Dean Bryan Orthel, then the director of the Interior Design program, reassured me I belonged before I believed it myself.
Then I attended a lecture by Assistant Professor Cydni Robertson on Black dandyism, where I was introduced to the concept of Sankofa.
Sankofa, a principle from the Akan people of Ghana, teaches us that we must look to the past in order to move forward.
And that idea stayed with me and really shifted my perspective.
Because as artists and designers, we don’t create from nothing.
We create from history. Even from recent history. My own parents’ experience coming to this country.
We create from memory.
From lived experience.
From the stories we carry—and the ones that came before us.
The concept of Sankofa gave me perspective that has shaped how I approach everything I do.
It’s what led me, alongside my peers from back home, to start The 312 Collective.
What began as conversations between my friends about the lack of resources for Chicago creatives turned into something bigger—a platform dedicated to creating intentional spaces for artistic expression and community.
Because representation matters.
People deserve to see themselves in the spaces they enter.
They deserve to feel considered.
And building The 312 Collective taught me that design is not just about physical environments, it’s about creating opportunities, building access, and making space for others.
That same mindset is what led me to IU Innovates.
IU Innovates fostered a space where I was able to continue building on my entrepreneurship skills and confidence while contributing to IU’s creative entrepreneurship ecosystem.
Going into my senior year, I continued pushing myself in new creative environments, which led me to join Season Magazine as a Set Designer. Collaborating with photographers, stylists, and editors allowed me to merge my interior design education with visual storytelling.
Designing sets that support a narrative taught me a new way to think about space, not just as something you physically move through, but as an experience or mindset that shapes emotion and representation.
Through these experiences I was able to access here at IU Bloomington, I was able to continue developing not just as a designer, but as a thinker and an entrepreneur.
This set of experiences gave me the confidence to take ideas seriously—to not just imagine change, but to actually build it.
And as a result of these experiences, I learned something that I want to leave with you all today:
Don’t wait for someone else’s belief to start moving.
Support is powerful—but action is what transforms your life.
A quote I encountered stuck with me:
“Would you rather have two weeks of progress, or two weeks of anxiously thinking?”
Because ambition without action becomes anxiety.
And we are part of a generation that feels that deeply.
And when the culture that surrounds us is one of unfailing excellence, the anxiety can be worse. As exciting as the historic football season was, that slogan we kept hearing --“Crimson for Glory” -- set up a narrative of flawlessness that could sometimes make us feel like we’re falling behind.
So we hesitate.
We overthink.
We wait. Because we’re afraid to fail. To let others down. To let ourselves down.
But the truth is—you don’t need everything to be perfect to begin.
You just need to start.
Take the risk.
Send the email.
Build the thing.
Trust yourself enough to move forward, even when the outcome is unclear.
And as you do that, I want you to hold onto something else too:
Compassion.
Because almost everyone else is anxious and uncertain too.
Because in a world that constantly pushes us toward status, achievement, and recognition—
it is easy to forget what actually matters.
The small moments.
The way we treat people.
The way people feel in the spaces they enter.
We hold so much power in that.
As designers, we shape more than spaces—we shape experiences.
We influence how people feel.
We create environments that can either include or exclude, uplift or overlook.
And that responsibility matters.
Technology will continue to evolve.
AI will continue to grow.
But it will never replace lived experience.
It will never replace human connection.
It will never replace the depth that comes from being fully, authentically you.
That is your greatest asset.
So don’t lose it chasing something external.
“You are the light,” that's what Tyler the Creator’s mom tells him in my favorite song St. Chroma.
She goes on to say “It’s not on you, it’s in you. Don’t you ever dim your light for anybody.”:
Every single person in this room carries something within them.
A story.
A perspective.
A purpose.
Some of us have been through more than others.
Some of us feel older than we are because of what we’ve had to navigate.
That shouldn’t make you feel alienated.
If anything—it means you’re prepared.
Prepared to lead with empathy.
Prepared to create with intention.
Prepared to build something better.
As artists and designers, we wear multiple hats at once. With that comes the responsibility that we shape narratives. We have the tools to design for new stories and sustainable systems. The world we are entering does not need replicas of what already exists. It needs designers and artists brave enough to move through uncertainty.
So if we are truly Crimson for Glory—
then let’s redefine what glory means.
Let it mean empathy.
Let it mean resilience.
Let it mean integrity.
Let it mean leaving space for someone else. Making space for someone else.
Because the future is not something we enter.
It is something we design.
And we have the power to make it better.
Thank you.
