Written by: JF Nichols Cortez Art by: Waldy Hans De Castro
As I opened my eyes, which were heavier than usual, the first thing I reached for was my buzzing phone. It was my alarm, which said it was three o’clock in the morning. My body, tired and weary, pushed itself off the bed—a mechanism I have mastered in order to get ahead of my brain before it decides to sleep again. It was not effective. Nor were the five succeeding alarms, each just five minutes apart, that I had set in anticipation of my feeble ability to stay awake. But who could blame me? The excitement and suspense prevented me from sleeping continuously, like a child unable to keep his act together the night before a field trip. In my case, however, it was the upcoming and long-overdue journey of a lifetime.
At the sixth alarm, I finally had enough mental strength to get out of bed. It was about quarter to five o’clock when I finished my breakfast, took a bath, and put on my assigned navy-blue shirt. At that time, I chatted with my friends to check on them. To no surprise, some were already in a jeepney that early in the morning, while others were closing in on UST grounds. I was not shaken up by their proximity because the dorm I was staying in was just five minutes away.
This might have been my closest experience to living the dorm life again. More than two years have passed since I stayed in a residence near UST, yet without fail, it seemed I would still arrive in the designated building much later than those in farther cities. Complacency is the death of dormers. Knowing that UST is just five to ten minutes away makes one believe that sprinting one side, street to street, in under two minutes is possible, preferable even.
I gleefully messaged a friend—who told me he was near—to go to my dorm’s lobby before proceeding to UST so that we could walk together. He indulged my request. And there it was, a fleeting feeling I have not felt for so long. I checked my essentials—my facemask, I.D., keys, and ThOMedSS—before hurrying to the elevator. Despite my clear enthusiasm, it wasn’t out of eagerness to see him for the first time. In fact, we already did.
This meeting happened less than a month ago when my friends and I decided it was high time we all had the pleasure of meeting in person. Two years of nothing but a virtual presence and, finally, there they were standing…all of them with facemasks on—a comedic coincidence had it been a different time. As we told stories, said jokes, ate together, and bonded, it felt normal. It felt right and deserving to be with friends after all we’ve been through. My only regret is that I was deprived of this bliss for more than two years.
So, the enthusiasm I was exhibiting was nothing but the thrill of meeting a friend. After joining him in the lobby, we made our way to UST. But, as soon as I was no longer under the building’s entrance, I felt a familiar sensation—it was the drizzle of rain. At that moment, I realized I had forgotten a crucial item—the friend of every Thomasian—the mighty umbrella.
What kind of Thomasian does not bring an umbrella during this season? A true Thomasian is always ready for rain.
After rushing back for my umbrella, my friend and I continued our trip, but now against a more pronounced pour of rain. Before allowing us to enter, the UST guard glanced over our shoes up to our heads—most likely to ensure appropriate attire and the presence of an I.D.; he then requested that we present our accomplished ThOMedSS. When everything was set, he let us in.
From our location, we had to walk a tad more because the Ruaño Building was still at the other end. However, I considered this serendipitous because one could enjoy the serene and cozy atmosphere of the campus, complemented by the rhythmic rain, in the early morning. It had a very Thomasian ambiance. Continuing our journey, we got a glimpse of the grandstand and a beautiful view of the wide green field. Keeping true to the serendipitous theme of the morning, we got a prelude to the main event as we walked past the Arch of the Centuries. I could not help but smile at what was in store for us.
When we finally reached the Roque Ruaño Building, I parted ways with my friend as another dear friend messaged me to assist her. She was actually the reason why I woke up much earlier than what could be expected of a dormer, but nothing beats listlessness better than the request of a friend. As I hastily strolled towards her dormitory along Lacson St., it felt different.
I had already walked the streets of Manila before. The atmosphere then was bleak due to the constant fear of imminent danger. But this time, the street was brimming with hope, emanating from the horde of students. It was viral, not the virus, but the festivity brought by these buoyant learners with their balloon clappers, head gear, light sticks, banners, and more. It was exhilarating to see how normal it felt—how I pray every day to be the same.
It was already past the call time when I met with my dear friend, who explained that it was the excitement that became her undoing. We hurried back to Ruaño and upon entering the building, we were met with a challenge locating our assigned rooms. It was a hectic journey despite the seemingly simple route designs in Ruaño. Regardless, I got to see plenty of should-have-beens like the classrooms, the laboratories, the open area, the faculty rooms, and others whose functionalities have all been reduced to a mere screen these past two years. It was weird how nostalgic it felt, even if I didn’t spend my college life in this building.
After finding our sections, we were finally on our way to QPAV. Inside the multi-purpose gymnasium, my friends and I sat on the “Ruaño” side as we watched more and more students fill the seats. We first hid our festive materials, as the next part would be the Homecoming Mass. It is always so serene to attend Mass with friends. It was delightful to see the student body in harmonious unity for such a celebration. The homily was about honoring the treasures we have in life and remembering to be grateful to all who have helped us unearth them. Those words spoke to me because it is the friends I have surrounded myself with, who have given me the strength to find joy amidst the cruel pandemic—they are my true treasures.
Once the mass had ended and as the stage was being prepared for the much-awaited ROARientation, the student body, just like myself, could no longer contain our elation, so we all began to cheer our hearts out. The closer it was to getting started, the louder the uproar was. As the lights dimmed and the hosts said their intensifying greeting, the roar of the students peaked. This festival was nothing compared to what I or any of us have experienced these past years. One would be in a state of euphoria as they were swept by the sea of flickering lightsticks and reverberating shouts of everyone. We were connected not just by our joys but more strongly by our shared desire to finally belong to something greater than ourselves again—the Thomasian community. The ROARientation continued with its program. It was filled with exhilarating games, events, and moments. My mind is filled with memories of laughing and bonding with my friends, and of swimming in exuberance throughout the program. Adding to my jubilant condition was the fact that we were getting closer and closer to the final act—the Homecoming Walk.
It was almost noon when the ROARientation ended, and preparations for the walk started. As we waited, we saw on the large screens the conditions outside—the rain was vigorous. Unlike most, I was not gloomy about the fact that it was raining. Compared to the uncertainties of waiting for this moment for the past two years, the strong downpour of the heavens was just a mere setback—a surprise ingredient to what would still be a delicious meal for the heart.
After about thirty minutes, we were guided to the entrance of QPAV, where we began walking towards the arch. The rain had not weakened my spirit. With our opened umbrellas and wet shoes, we first circled back in front of Roque Ruaño, back to QPAV, and towards the Arch. It was amusing to see others and ourselves try our best to avoid puddles of water in our path. I thought to myself, “what could be a greater Thomasian experience than having strong rain and a Homecoming walk on the same day?” As I got a glimpse of the fountain beside the arch and heard clearly the thunderous beats of the drums, I began to prepare my heart and spirit. Getting nearer the Arch was nerve-wracking because pressure sets in the body as you try to think of how to act and behave to make the experience count. Is there something more I should be doing? A prayer? A song? A dance?
Moments before entering the Arch, we decided to let out one last cheer to mark this Thomasian milestone. The act of passing through was not what made it magical. It was that, despite the two-year halt, it was finally happening and that we were with cherished friends. The path to the Arch did not merely begin at the entrance of QPAV, nor at the entrance of Roque Ruaño, nor at our beds this morning. Instead, the journey began more than two years ago—it was a long, tiring walk filled with dreadful challenges that pushed our physical, mental, and social selves to the limit. But amidst all the sorrows, tears, doubts, and constant rain, the arch was finally reached, and it was nothing but beguiling.
The arch is not only a symbol of new beginnings but also of the tribulations that we once championed, igniting a spark of a more hopeful vision of the future. It was not passing through the arch that brought us growth, but the path we had to take to get there. Let what we unearth from this experience also kindle our appreciation for ourselves, the pain we endured, and the strength we exhibited to reach this moment.
Comments