I sought the Lord, and He heard, and He answered.

    I don’t really know how to write this properly because I feel like I’m still catching up to today.

    It’s graduation, but I don’t feel the way I thought I would. I thought there would be clarity, or maybe even relief in a way that makes everything feel settled. But instead, I just feel quiet. Not empty exactly—just quiet in a way that makes me aware of everything I went through to get here. Like my mind is still trying to sit with it all, even if my body is already here.

    Because I remember how this started. I remember not fully knowing if I would make it through college. I remember the uncertainty that didn’t always look like fear on the outside,but felt like it on the inside. I remember showing up to classes while carrying thoughts I didn’t know how to explain to anyone, while trying to convince myself that I was okay even when I wasn’t. Most days, I wasn’t really okay. I was just continuing. That was the only thing I knew how to do.

    And somehow, I continued long enough to reach this day.

    But I didn’t get here alone.

    My Tatay is the first person I think about when I try to understand this moment. Because this didn’t start with me deciding I wanted something for myself—it started with him carrying something long before I even understood what it meant. I saw it in the way he worked, in the way he kept going without making it about himself, in the sacrifices he never turned into something I had to feel guilty for. He just gave, in silence, in consistency, in ways I only fully understand now that I’m here. And I think a part of me kept going because I didn’t want any of it to be wasted. I didn’t want his effort to end in something unfinished.

    My Kuya Jomar is part of this story in ways I will never fully be able to repay or even properly put into words. The rides, the help, the allowance, the presence that never made me feel like I was asking for too much. Those things sound simple when written down, but they held me together on days I didn’t even have the strength to function normally. There were moments I got through only because support existed in ways I didn’t always notice at the time.

    My Ate Aila and Aiden… I don’t think I ever told you enough how much it meant to be seen by you in a good way, even when I didn’t see myself that way. There were days I felt like I wasn’t doing enough, like I was falling behind, like I wasn’t becoming the person I was supposed to be. But you still looked at me with pride. And sometimes that was the only version of me I could hold onto.

    My Kuya Ariel… thank you for the kind of support that doesn’t need to be loud to matter. The kind that just stays there quietly but still carries weight in ways I only understand now when I look back. I may not always have said it properly, but I felt it.

    And Mama…

    this is the hardest part to write.

    You weren’t there when I started college, and you’re not physically here today either. But I never really felt like I went through this without you. There were too many moments I didn’t know what I was doing, too many days I was just trying to survive without fully understanding how I was still continuing. And in those moments, I always felt something I couldn’t explain properly—like I wasn’t entirely alone even when everything around me felt heavy. I don’t know how to put that into clear words, but I know I carried you in ways I couldn’t always say out loud.

    And my friends…

    This part of my life doesn’t feel complete without mentioning how much you all shaped it.

    There were days college felt too heavy to carry alone, but somehow it never really was alone because of the people who stayed in the middle of it with me. My LYD family became one of the spaces where I never had to question if I belonged. You never doubted me as a person, and that kind of trust changes how you see yourself over time. It makes you believe in yourself a little more, even on days you don’t feel like you can.

    To the girls who became closest to me in ways I didn’t expect—thank you for becoming part of my everyday life in college without making it feel forced or temporary. You made things feel lighter just by existing in the same space as me.

    Mayumi, I still remember the way you would say “teh, ikaw na talaga” like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You probably don’t realize it, but those small words made heavy days feel less heavy. In the middle of last semester chaos, when everything felt like too much at once, you somehow made me feel like I wasn’t falling apart as much as I thought I was.

    Dhane, you became my loudest supporter in a time when I didn’t always trust myself anymore. Especially during senior year, when everything started feeling more real and more intense at the same time, you held the parts of me that I kept doubting. Thank you for being my research partner, for sharing not just the workload but also the pressure, the stress, and somehow still making it feel like we could get through it. Both you and Mayumi are genuinely one of the best things that happened to me in college, not just in academics, but in life.

    To Sir Asher, thank you for mentoring me and for believing in me in ways I didn’t always understand at the time but appreciate deeply now. And to Sir Jerick, thank you for becoming not just a mentor but also someone I could consider a real friend in this last year. Your trust and pride in me became something I carried quietly but strongly.

    To my friends since freshmen year—Mikee, Joshua, Ladylee, Ate AJ, Darwin, Renz, and Alliah—thank you for making college feel less like survival and more like something I could actually live through. You made the long days lighter, the stressful ones bearable, and the entire journey something I can now look back on without only remembering the weight of it.

    To my Political Science family, Class of 2025–2026, thank you for making me feel included in ways that mattered more than you probably realized. There were moments I didn’t feel like I belonged, but the way you treated me made me feel like I did. Like I mattered. And I hope I was able to give even half of that back to you.

    To my OPP family, thank you for giving me another home I can always come back to. During my OJT, you became the space where I learned not just about work, but about patience, presence, and professionalism shaped by care.

    To Ate Shem, Ate Karen, and Ate Kyla, thank you for giving me comfort and a safe zone during my time at the office. You made the workplace feel less intimidating and more like somewhere I could grow without fear of being out of place.

    To Prosecutor Lenon, thank you for giving me the opportunity to enter the life inside the office and trust me with that experience. It meant more than just exposure—it became part of my growth.

    To Ate Kath, Ma’am Yam, Ma’am Ly, Ma’am Lot, Ate Sofie, Ate Ella, Ate Pey, Ma’am Jane, Kuya Bert, Kuya Ronnie, Gab, and Prosecutor Unico—thank you for all the lessons, wisdom, and care you poured into me throughout those months. I carry all of it with me now, even the small things I didn’t realize I was learning at the time.

    This is also for all of you, my OPP fam—your OJT is now a graduate.

    To my best friend Ivy, thank you for being there since high school in ways that never made me question my worth. You never doubted my capability, even in moments I doubted everything about myself. You loved me in ways that made me feel less like I was difficult to love. Even in my quietest and most uncertain versions, you stayed.

     To my cousin and best buddy Rachel, thank you for knowing me in ways no one else really does. You knew the parts of me I never had to explain, the secrets I never had to justify, the thoughts I only ever said out loud because I trusted you would understand. And more than that, you never failed to make me feel proud of myself—not just as a student, but as a person.

    Somewhere along the way, I also became someone I didn’t fully notice I was becoming. I learned how to lead, how to stay, how to show up even when I didn’t feel fully ready for anything I was doing. Growth didn’t feel like growth while it was happening. It just felt like continuing, again and again, until I realized I had become someone different from who I was when I started.

    But even with all of that, I know I can’t take this moment and make it only about me.

    Because there were too many things that don’t make sense if it was just me doing everything on my own. Too many times things worked out in ways I couldn’t control. Too many moments I was held together when I was already falling apart without realizing it. Too many quiet forms of grace I only understand now that I’m looking back.

    And that’s why I can say this without fully knowing how everything else fits yet:

    I sought the Lord, and He heard, and He answered.

    I don’t think I have all the words for what today means. I don’t think I’ve fully processed it yet. I just know I’m here. And I know I didn’t get here alone.

    And maybe that’s what makes it hard to fully hold right now, because nothing about this feels like a clear ending. It feels more like I just stopped in the middle of something that took a long time to survive, and now I’m only noticing it because I finally have the space to feel it.

    I didn’t just reach something. I went through it while not fully understanding what it was doing to me, while becoming someone I only recognize now in fragments. There were versions of me I had to outgrow quietly just to keep moving forward, and I don’t think I’ve fully caught up with all of them yet.

    And I didn’t do it alone, even in the moments I thought I was.

    And for now, that’s the only thing I can really hold onto without it slipping through my hands.

    I made it here.