At elite high schools, there’s a certain rhythm to student life: IB classes, SAT prep, and an endless parade of extracurriculars all feeding the same beast: the college application. Clubs are joined not out of interest, but out of strategy. And service work? It’s become less about helping others and more about helping ourselves.

Take Comida Sem Mesa, a student-led club that organizes food drives for families who struggle with food insecurity. Its name means “food without a table,” a reflection of the harsh reality many people face: not just a lack of meals, but a lack of stability. The club’s mission is urgent, personal, and real for the people it serves.

But for many students involved, it’s nothing more than another line on a résumé. A box to check. A photo op to post. The irony is hard to ignore: we show up in designer sneakers to sort donated cans, then complain that it’s “boring” or “not good for college essays.” We bring the food, but not the care. We want credit, but not responsibility.

It’s a jarring contrast. Their problem is not knowing if they’ll eat tonight. Ours is whether our Common App essay sounds “impactful” enough. They worry about feeding their kids. We worry about whether we’ve done enough “service hours” to get into our dream school.

We were born with silver spoons in our mouths. Some of the people we claim to help don’t even have a spoon.

This isn’t just performative, it’s damaging. When service becomes selfish, the quality drops. Students forget the human side of volunteering: the single mother waiting on that grocery bag, the child who only eats what’s given at school, the family stretching one loaf of bread through the week. These are not numbers on a spreadsheet or abstract causes to discuss in a club meeting. They’re people. But when we show up just to say we did, we fail them.

And yet, our college applications are full of phrases like “passionate about community service” or “dedicated to giving back.” But how many of us actually care? How many of us would keep volunteering if there were no recognition, no awards, no Ivy League gold star?

This is what rich kid problems look like. We stress over which clubs sound the most impressive while others are just trying to survive. We compete for leadership roles in Comida Sem Mesa, not to do more, but to say we did more.

It’s time to be honest with ourselves. If we’re going to say we care, we have to mean it. Service should not be a performance, it should be a responsibility. Because in the end, it’s not about us. It never was.

So next time you sign up for that food drive, ask yourself: am I here to help, or to be seen helping? And remember while we worry about our futures, some people are just trying to make it through the day.