Back when I was a freshman, I saw everything through rose-colored glasses. I drowned out the congestion of a bus ride with two-hour, tear-jerking albums; I romanticized the exhaustion of coming home late at night; and I chose to inhale the aroma of street foods on the sidewalks by the Recto station.
Yet as time passed, I have grown to feel a deep level of disdain for them all. The transport system of our country, the inconsiderate schedules of college classes, and the pungent smell of the city. They all made my ambition feel like a weight I had to drag around for four long years.
But now that I’m walking on this garbage-filled, urine-stained pavement — not just as a student, but as a soon-to-be certified adult looking for a job — I can’t help but feel somewhat empty.
I entered through Gate 2 and took one last look around the campus — the infrastructure that I will never see built, the canteen stalls that have fed me when my budget was at its tightest, and the trees in the Freedom Park that have memorized my laughter and my vocal stims. They'll all become distant memories.
In a way, they were like my hallway crushes, always conveniently appearing at the right moment and making me laugh. And the thought of parting with them gutted my heart, because why do I always love a little too late?
And so, I took a picture of everything to bid them farewell. In my mind, parting with them this way would bring me the most comfort. These don’t call for loud goodbyes and tears, but that doesn’t make them insignificant. They’re now locked in time, settling behind a screen, and etched forever in my memory.
This is how I learned that the most silent goodbyes leave the most bittersweet aftertaste. And in our parting, I am left with such an odd, odd feeling.
- Russell Ognes
(Illustration by Miles Munich Montreal Jimenez/FEU Advocate)