(I accidentally unearthed this old article written on March 23, 2002. Incidentally, this is the season of graduations. I'm reposting it here in the hopes of reclaiming the hopefulness I had back then after graduating from university.:-)

My graduating story took place a year ago. I remember marching under the rows and rows of Acacia trees that enclose the campus in a way a forgiving father would have embraced a prodigal son. It mirrors an everyday sight, after all we've been through this before, and as for how many times we must have walked, held hands, shared laughter under that sweeping canopy, one would never know.

Some were familiar faces, whom I first met during an entrance exam, or while awaiting a turn at the library's xerox machine. Most, if not all, were intoxicated, nervous like someone nursing a high fever, perhaps overwhelmed by an emotion, which I thought only falling in love during the annual dorm ball or notching an academic honor could allow. Somehow, I saw the hollowness of the ceremonies. Not because it was not exactly necessary, but that it could not suffice the meaning of the occasion--how it finally settles the years with a seesaw feeling of fear and security.

I remember how I mostly spent the remaining days before the big day: I wandered off to the boulevard by the sea--a trysting point for romantics, dreamers and persistent peanut vendors. We would sit, while away time, find comfort, and breathe in whatever we sensed and saw as if it was our last communion.

In one fleeting moment, our dangling feet would be so consumed with a resolve so intense and possessed with a Woodrow Wilson wisdom: kick some sand, head the rushing waves, and swim against the stream to discover for oneself the strength of it. Or perhaps in this case, the strength of our will. Or the strength of our dreams.

There, our thoughts would trace and re-trace the fading contours of a nearby island till dusk settles and wonder where our idealism would probably take us: would we ever go beyond where the sun rises and retreats?

That graduation--it was not difficult to realize--has been a rite of passage to a world as imperfect as college. Yet, to paraphrase a Chinese proverb, a degree and a diploma have us a special favor by opening the door, and that all we have to do is muster the will to enter it.

After the graduation, after a celebration and a cry, what remained turned into a blur. Some chose to say. Some packed their idealism, succumbed to the call of passing ferries, and sailed away.

Still, there will always be that sense of knowing, albeit light with experience, that life will never run out of graduations, just as another group of girls and careless chatter take over the favorite spot at the boulevard, another ferry beckons for trips to Edens, and another batch assumes it turn to march and graduate.

Let's just call her J.

 

J speaks and looks like the socialite that she is. She's one of the most high-profile young ladies I've met ever and one of the most photographed. She has a public relations company that's doing well and owns and manages restobars that are doing very well.

At first glance, you'll think she's a woman of the world.

But I just learned a secret from her: she buys her fashionable clothes not from a high-end shop or haute couture designer but a store that sells bargains, and she's very prudent with her finances to the point that she has no credit card!

These revelations floored me because despite the impressions I have of her, this lovely lady who can afford to live luxuriously, actually lives simply. No wonder she's successful.

wannabe wholesome

wannabe wholesome

Today, I received a surprising text message and a lesson on saying Thank You.

It came from my former student named Raymond. He texted me: Thanks Mam for being one of my teachers... Graduate na ko (I'm a graduate already).

He was my student 3 semesters ago, so that Thank You of his presented a whole new level of meaning to me. I promptly texted him back: Congratulations and I'm so proud of you.

I'm really so proud of Raymond because I knew what he had been through before. You see, Raymond used to work as a pimp for young prostitutes. He said his poverty drove him to do it. He remembers having to "broker deals" with very high-profile people, including young and old politicos.

One time there was this customer who asked them to meet him in some dark section of Cebu. But when they were about to ride his heavily-tinted car, they were surprised to see not one, but a whole bunch of guys inside. That scared him to death, and it was not lost on him that these guys had more sinister plans in mind than he could possibly imagine.

And it dawned on him that this wasn't the life that he wanted. So he went back to school at a Cebu university. Since he's good doing hair and make-up and is also into production and events, these also helped pay the school bills.

He became active in extra-curricular activities, and was even part of the school paper. He wasn't the most excellent in writing in my class, but I have to admit he was one of my favorites, if not the most, because of his disposition and diligence.

And 3 semesters after, here he is now one of the Batch 2010 graduates, who remembered to thank his teacher despite her many shortcomings. Congrats Raymond, and to the rest of this year's graduates, all the best!

 * Thanks to Raymond, I realized that I never thanked my college teachers enough: And so a big thank you to Ma'am Cecile who taught me about the rigors of writing and editing and to my acting dean, Ma'am Celia, who was the one who really pushed a very unsure and nearly hopeless me to go for the career that I have now.