It hasn't really hit me yet in full, the fact that I'm graduating. I realized it a little bit earlier today, when I put my toga on for the first time and heard Baccalaureate Mass at school. But even then--even while surrounded by my co-graduates at the Ateneo High School covered courts, with everyone in near-full graduation attire--I still felt detached, as though I was watching someone else go through the motions of culminating their academic career.
Whether or not I wrap my brain around it in time, however, it is happening, and it's happening to me. After fifteen years of uniforms, textbooks, report cards, evil teachers and awesome ones, friends, relationships, enemies, cafeteria food, school-hours traffic, homework, classrooms, and the whole she-bang... it's over. Tomorrow, sometime between four-thirty in the afternoon and eight at night, I'm going to get up on that stage, shake Fr. Ben's hand, and descend the stairs once again, no longer a student.
A Dangerous Love Affair
The high-pitched squeak of rubber soles on a rubber floor. The echoing thud of a basketball as it’s dribbled across the court. The inarticulate yells of players as they attempt to pass, catch, fake, score. The shrill sound of a whistle as a referee calls the foul. And the deafening ring of the buzzer as it signals the end of play. Five months ago, these sounds meant nothing to me, were as unfamiliar to my ears as Jay-Z’s rapping would be to Mozart. Today, they feel almost like home.
What happened in the time between? It’s simple: I fell in love.