“frnds 4 quite
som tym
so0n 2 prt.
1s we shrd,
cried
bt n0w
we bid farewel
coz_____
colege lyf
as we oL knw
s OVER.
gudLyf___
guLuv
gudL�ks
SENIORS 05′
n0w signing-off!”
-Mark Baquiran
17 March 2005
02:56 am
I found myself staring at this old heap while I was sorting out my laundry this morning. Out of some melancholic urge, I just looked at it for a long time, and 
whether it’s because I am moved with the idea that I am finally going to be able to wash clean my bacteria’s lounge or that I was actually able to wake up early in the morning (thanks to my niece who got here at 6:30am) is still lost to me, but after those few minutes I could not resist the urge to get out the camera and take a few photos of it.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is my school uniform. Like its predecessors, after years of usage it has become grayish and somewhat soft on the sides, enduring typhoons and sun blasts and hours-long travels and media productions and trips to the loo and overly saccharine moments as well as double overly squirming-ly corny moments bursting every now and then. It has experienced bad hair days to squirming freshmen jitters to smug senior looks. It has eavesdropped on dozens of class secrets, even best friend talks and lately this year, the intimate talks quite different from the usual platonic exchanges.
It has been quite a puzzle to me why I never bothered to name them. Aside from the fact that it’s silly, of course, but coming to think of it, as four days in my academic week requires attendance of that green and white pair, we have become more than acquainted friends but partners in daily life. When I feel down they miraculously slop around, and when I am quite blissful they share my sentiments as well and somewhat frisk up trying to keep up to par. We have both been going through the same directions, only parting when she needs to rest along with the bacteria-lounge heap or finally take that much-awaited refreshment.
However, unlike me, this heap is going to follow after its predecessors, which have either become now indistinguishable rags, or taken other lives as old towels for the dogs, or cut up pieces of fabric to practice non-existent sewing skills on. The luckier piece of my old uniform went to a family friend who fancied the way my mother has sewn my skirts back in elementary and borrowed it for design pattern. We never got it back, and of course, it’s not like we’re going to put up a court case for doing so. We were just relieved to dispose of those navy blue skirts accordingly.
I, on the other hand, will be taking after a different life after graduation. It’s a pity my partner would never even become a witness to my coming up on stage, but since uniforms have faster growing years than dogs, it has subtly told me that it’s not going to make it there on stage proudly anymore. The other day I made sure my uniforms wouldn’t even see the wardrobe I am going to wear on that day. They might get jealous.
Sigh. It would have been easier to part with the archetype of my four years in college if I had the nerdiest “lesser-people” experience of it. But I don’t. I had two years of common college life bountiful of explorations, I had my third year full of bonding experience, and I had my fourth year celebrated with newly acquainted 
friends. Just when I thought my life was at its peak with my classmates on my third and fourth year, I got to experience the savvy yet obviously equally nerdy (but nevertheless elitists) people of Heraldo Filipino. In the middle I was even making new acquaintances in the rock scene. And then there were also friends I was able to cherish during my OJT stays. I almost had no reason to stay in our house. If I don’t move I feel I’d lose half of my life.
Some of them of course I’d be able to still keep in touch with after. That�s what the emails, blogs and chats are for, my dear theoretical sister, Cholo even declares. But somehow, the toga gives me the ticket to move on aboard a train fast going nowhere. I can only visit once in a while, but the action is somehow lost. You’re not a present-part of them anymore; you only become a (hopefully well-treasured) has-been.
Yesterday JP gave me an unsolicited advice about what I can do after I graduate. It was actually a nice suggestion, considering it was also a vehemently-denied “conjugal” advice with my news editor Maycee (yes, JP. I still stand by my label of it). Why not become a part of the teaching force? JP asked. CAD needs people like you. I Fervently denied him the answer he was hoping for. Nofrigingway.
It would have been a spanking great idea if not for two reasons: that one, I do not read the word “teacher” written all over my face; two, I wouldn’t want to teach students who are more bratty than I am, if not wittier and more sarcastic. Besides, I cannot see what I can teach except for I.T., and I do not have proper training with it except that I love to dabble in html once in a while. And I am still using an outdated software such as FrontPage, so it’s not as idealistic as it can turn out.
That’s the problem with you people, JP reacts, a touch of bitterness apparent. How are we going to revolutionize (read: my word) the CAD faculty? How are we going to change the ailing faculty of LaSalle if you’re not willing to take part in changing it?
I silently chuckled at my own ideals being thrown at my face. First of all, do not think that I have not considered that. But given my position as a fresh graduate and given my experience, drive is not enough. I have been a student once, JP, as we all have been. And we all know how we scoff at professors who are teaching subjects which are not their forte. And considering the small number of faculties around, if I dare it I might be subjected to teach some subject I am near clueless about, and I wouldn’t want to repeat history by mocking my students and claiming I know something about it even if I don’t. If I believe in teaching excellence, I wouldn’t submit my self.
I rinsed my uniform for possibly the last time. Didn’t think twice about putting fabric conditioner on it, even if it may live a peaceful life inside my cabinets afterwards. I did cherish my college life, you know. So I wouldn’t let those uniforms dry just like that. As much as I wouldn’t let my college years go dry either.
As much as I deny the thought that I care for my own school, somehow I do. And I probably always will. It had a few holes, but still good enough to cherish. And JP, I do somehow hope I can do something good for my school when the time comes. It has given me the best four years of my life, even if not purely academically, but at 
least the grounds of De La Salle University - Dasmari�as has become a venue for friendships and minds and memories which are currently making my eyes a bit moist on the sides, and which would probably trigger teardrops come graduation day. Because I would not just miss the lovely people of Heraldo Filipino, or the people I were able to meet on the side, the people at orgs, the teachers who have shared lessons with me, or yes, even the Sinag Political Party people who have become nice acquaintances on my 3 years in college, and of course, to my great batch mates and especially my block mates who have shared wonderful four years with me in this university. We’re the fourth section but never the underrated lot. I would never �just� miss them. I would GREATLY miss them.
Four years. The last year was even the best. After four years, like my uniforms which have taken different colors with all those travels and experiences, I have proudly caught a shade of different colors given by different lovely people, and even more proudly, I have become soft on the sides. I’d definitely put a conditioner on those memories I have of those years too. Because I’d definitely come back again and again and sniff them inside my cabinets. Because I’d definitely miss you.
All of you.
Thanks for making my stay here better than I expected. I’d really miss you all.
Love lots,
