How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.
Okay, that line is pretty cliché, to be honest, but hear me out. As I get older, I have realized that there are three constants in life: these are the things that, no matter how good or bad your day is going, are always there—uncertainty, love, and change.
First, there is uncertainty. Back in tenth grade, I was approached by our class adviser, who asked where I would study as a senior and in what academic strand I would be. At that time, I told her that I had chosen STEM as my one and only option. I was so steadfast in choosing STEM that I rejected the thought of even considering other academic strands. My main motivation at the time, and until now, is that I have a passion for computers and technology. If you were to ask me why I chose STEM, I would tell you that it is because of my passion to learn about technology and how it functions. However, if you were to ask me on a deeper level—perhaps I would hesitate to answer you properly. The thing is, I chose STEM because it was the most practical and probable option for me. It was practical in the sense that the major scholarships offered for college applicants prioritize STEM-related programs more, and probable in the sense that I see my future in STEM, or at least, that's how it is for now.
Then, why would I hesitate back then? The reason is simple: I felt like I was bandwagoning and joining everyone who chose STEM because it worked for them. My reason at the time was shallow, just like my passion for the very same thing that influenced my decision to choose that strand. Oh, and I forgot to mention that at the very same meeting with my former adviser, she also asked which school I would attend for the next two years. Reluctantly, I told her that I would go to a university whose nickname is that of a bovid, the green and yellow university for you UAAP watchers. Practicality-wise, it was anything but practical. For months, I had been reading and hearing anecdotes that seemed to affect my perception of attending this institution in a negative way. I won't go into much detail, but looking back now, I did not regret missing out on the chance to study at that school. The curriculum stayed the same, I guess? In a sense, there's not much to miss out on, really. There are "what ifs" sometimes, but overall, I am content with how my last two years turned out.
People may know me as that dependable guy, but no, I am far from being dependable. I am uncertain about so many things that before going to sleep, I am often haunted by thoughts of how things could have been so different if I had chosen a different option or said something else.
But you know what? It wasn't bad at all. Sure, there's still uncertainty lingering from time to time, but this uncertainty, at least for me, makes me reflect and think about my future decisions on a deeper level. If you're expecting a paragraph sharing some wisdom, you won't find it here, sorry. Haha.
It was during times of uncertainty that I realized just how alone I can be at times. I mean, the decisions I'm going to make ultimately affect my own life, not others', regardless of whether they're present or not along the way. It can be sad, even lonely at times. However, it was also during these times of uncertainty that I learned and found the second constant: love.
Talking about love feels very cliché, but bear with me. Perhaps I could never fully articulate how I'd talk about love, for I am also still experiencing love in different forms. I'll try. If you were to ask me what the faces of love are, there are three things I'd describe: the loud, the silent, and the one that argues.
The first one is the love that is loud. Throughout my six-year stay in this school, which I, as much as I hate to admit, have grown to love, only a handful of people have had a profound impact on my life. I won't drop any names, don't worry. The first one came in the form of an online message back in eighth grade. The pandemic had affected my social interactions so severely that I became used to being alone, until a message popped up on my phone. Long story short, we became good friends—best friends, I'd proudly say. I recognize the loud face of love whenever I'm with this person. Love is loud when it is open, expressive, and playful. These friendships are filled with laughter, inside jokes, and a willingness to share thoughts and feelings freely. In this type of friendship, gatherings are often lively and filled with conversation, that's for sure. They are the ones who will call you out for your mistakes but also be the first to celebrate your successes.
Love when it is loud is euphoric, but sometimes you yearn not for the loudness and liveliness of things, but for the mundane and silent moments. That's when I got to know the silent face of love. Oh, for the record, I'm talking about platonic love—I'm still far from romantic love, haha.... Back in tenth grade, I was so focused on someone that I unknowingly shut my door on getting to know my other classmates. As a matter of fact, the people I am close with now were not the same people my tenth-grade self would have thought would be close with back then. Anyways, that's for another story.
I am now in eleventh grade. This was the time when I was introduced to a huge circle of friends. At its peak, half of the class was part of this social circle in one way or another. That said, this person, who was part of this circle, was not someone I thought I'd be close with, to be honest. The academic year happened, and I thought that was the end of this circle of friends. It was inevitable. Some were changing schools, some were moving places, and some were just... gone. Then, twelfth grade came, and wow, haha. It was fast-paced with loads of activities lined up. It was tiring, but it was memorable. It was during this time that I got to know more about a classmate of mine. We became good friends. I am grateful having them in my life, and I hope they feel the same way about our friendship. You know? Oh, why silent love, you say? Well, our friendship, if I were to describe it, is like a wave. Sometimes it's loud and full of happenings; sometimes it's silently comfortable. Built on trust, where words are not always necessary to convey feelings or support. They may not always be the first to reach out, but when they do, their words carry weight and sincerity. This type of friendship values quiet moments and can be incredibly comforting. They understand that sometimes, the best way to show love and support is by simply being present without needing to say much. I don't know, it works for me and for my friends. I am fluent in silence, so much so that sometimes I unknowingly remove myself from the picture. And that's when the third face of love comes in—the one that is needed the most whenever you're drowning in negative thoughts.
When we were working on our film project, I was constantly battling my negative thoughts and the feeling of burnout while juggling my academic responsibilities. It was hard, to be honest. There were days where I stayed up late working on our script, editing, and planning the next shooting details. In times like these, I unknowingly became silent and distant to my closest friends. Perhaps it was my way of saying that I needed help the most? I don't know. The most ironic thing is that I am self-aware of my actions. I am needlessly cruel to myself. When someone is having a hard time and they come to me, I give them my attention and try to make them feel better, but when I feel the same thing, I become silent. I can't help it. It has gotten so bad that there were times when I ignored those around me. One time, I did it to a close friend of mine. I felt bad, and I apologized. They told me they felt hurt by my actions, but they understood why I acted as such. It sucks, to be honest. But where does the "one that argues" face of love come into the picture, you may ask? It's when the two parties in a friendship talk about their actions, reflect on how it made the other party feel, and improve upon themselves. This love among friends involves debates and disagreements as a regular part of the interaction.
Communication is key, that is what I always say, but I'm being hypocritical because I cannot even practice what I preach—ironic, right? Well, I'm trying. If we ever have a problem or a misunderstanding, I won't let both of us go through the night with a heavy heart. I cannot do that. Be it with friends or with my family, I try to talk it out. I want us to talk about uncomfortable things because I want us to be comfortable with one another. When we argue, we talk. I tell you how I feel, and you tell me how it made you feel. I apologize; you apologize. My parents do that, my grandparents do that, my aunts do that, and it works.
Love comes in different forms. You'll need one for a specific time and need. Now, the third constant is change. When I was in tenth grade, a former classmate of mine started giving me a nickname: Papa G. At first, I was weirded out because how can you give such a nickname to someone your age? Truth be told, I felt awkward, and I hated it. I have a name, call me by my name—it's that simple. However, since it was only him who called me by the nickname he gave me, I did not mind. It was when the nickname began to be adopted by my other classmates that I started to feel weirded out by it. But then, fine. I couldn't stop you now, I didn't care.
Looking back now, with only three weeks left before graduating, I cannot help but laugh at the idea of me not being known or referred to by my nickname. It became a part of who I am, so much so that, honestly, I don't know if I'd want to continue being called as such in college. Truth be told, leaving that nickname in high school and going back to my actual name feels like leaving a part of who I am. But hey, nothing is permanent. And that's when I want to say how lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.
Things will never be the same. Actually, this is the most personal and open I've ever been to my classmates. If they were to see this, haha... Well, I came to the realization that as I enter our room one last time, surrounded by the familiar walls of my school, perhaps I'll be overwhelmed with a mix of emotions. This is not a joke anymore. The final days of our graduating class are ticking away, and the reality of leaving this place behind is starting to sink in. It's a bittersweet feeling, one that I've never experienced before. I'm sad, deeply sad, about saying goodbye to the people and the place that has become such a big part of my life. Yet, at the same time, I'm really happy that something can evoke this level of sadness in me. It's a strange kind of happiness, but it's there, nonetheless.
It's like I've come to realize that feeling this sad means I've experienced something truly good before. The memories we've made here, the laughter, the late-night study sessions, the spontaneous adventures—all of these have contributed to this beautiful sadness. It's a reminder that I've lived fully, that I've loved deeply, and that I've grown alongside some incredible people. The only way I can feel this sad now is if I felt something really good before. So, I have to take the bad with the good. It's a trade-off I'm willing to make because it means I've had the chance to experience life in all its beauty.
As I look around at my friends, I see the same emotions reflected back at me. We're all feeling it—this beautiful sadness that comes with knowing we're moving on to different paths. It's scary, but it's also exhilarating. We're not just leaving behind a place; we're leaving behind a chapter of our lives. And while it's hard to let go, we know that we have to. We have to take the lessons we've learned, the memories we've made, and the love we've shared, and carry them with us into the next chapter.
I guess what I'm feeling is like a beautiful sadness. It's a sadness that reminds me I'm alive, that I'm human. It's a reminder that I've been lucky enough to have something worth leaving behind. As I close this chapter and embark on the next, I carry with me the knowledge that I am lucky to have had something that makes saying goodbye so hard. It's a bittersweet feeling, but it's also a testament to the depth and beauty of the experiences I've had here. And for that, I am truly grateful.
Comments
Post a Comment