Confession 4.0: The Last Ride
Kristine Elizabeth B. Dihiansan, special to The Journalese
"We were at the prime of our college lives – with a seniority status on our sleeves but still a vague mindset of our own future, yet we have no choice but to move forward and to face the uncertainties of the world."
The world is ours for the taking.
Four sections, four years, one goal. Cruising through time, meeting mishaps along the way, and troubleshooting them are all part of the journey. At first, it seems like we are geared towards our destination, what we realized along the way is that it’s not always the destination, but the journey, that matters the most.
We were at the prime of our college lives – with a seniority status on our sleeves but still a vague mindset of our own future. Still locked within the four walls on our fourth year, our character development was still a far cry from the character formation that the University is expected to instill in their students, even if majority of us were leaders and editors of various student organizations and publications, respectively. Smart and talented lot but nonetheless, naive, young and carefree. We were still too young to understand world problems, yet old enough to play dumb in the face of its intricacies. That’s the greatest irony coming from the largest pool of Journalism batch.
Arab spring, Osama Bin Laden’s death, Japan’s massive earthquake, Russian elections, and Royal matrimony – these were the realities of the world. We were unaffected (except for those who have relatives in afflicted countries) because we have our own reality to deal with, less intricate to comprehend than worldly problems but deadlier than deadlines.
Thesis.
It separates the thin line between “make” or “break.” It was on everyone’s lips.
“Thesis-it!”
“Tungkol saan thesis niyo?”
“Di ako pwede mamaya, may thesis kami.”
“Google docs tayo para ma-edit natin yung thesis kahit di tayo magkakasama.”
“May similar topic yung thesis natin sa National Library. Punta tayo dun.”
“Guys, bukas na ang pasahan ng Chapters 1 and 2 ng thesis pero wala pa tayong nagagawa.”
“Ui, kamusta na si ***** sa grupo niyo? Pasaway daw siya sa thesis niyo ah.”
Did I say deadlier than deadlines? The fact that everyone struggled to make it to submission day yet majority of us always didn’t make it, and the looming thought of not graduating because of failure to meet the requirement killed us every single day.
Lone entity but powerful enough to destroy the camaraderie even among the best of friends who decided to work as a group, we were the first to demonstrate PBB teens-like attitude even before PBB teens became unpopular with the media-savvy Filipino people – Facebook rants, gossiping behind people’s backs, and many more to mention – all these not because of boyfriend / girlfriend relationships, but because of an intellectual discourse.
It was also successful in eradicating the presence of the graduating batch to the annual Journalism acquaintance party – our last party in our college life. Our batch was outnumbered by the lower years. Majority in our batch decided to wear their game faces and work in front of laptops instead of flaunting party outfits and emitting vibrant energy. What can we do? While the rest of the populace is celebrating post – prelims week, we still have to meet the initial deadline for our thesis submission.
It kept our mind working with a 2,000 or more horsepower – long enough to keep us going for days without sleep. We ate it for brunch, merienda and midnight snack, because having breakfast, lunch and dinner is really not our thing now. This is the new normal for all, if not most, among the graduating batch. Everyone write with it, bathe with it and even sleep with it.
That is how simple – minded creatures we are. We think of it as the greatest hindrance to our social lives. It eats up our time and energy, even making it as an excuse why we disregard other pressing matters – be it for personal, academic or worldly matters. Recalling a classroom scene that seems like eons ago, a professor said a coined term and asked for its significance in world events. None in the class dared to answer.
We were at the prime of our college lives – with a seniority status on our sleeves but still a vague mindset of our own future, yet we have no choice but to move forward and to face the uncertainties of the world.
As of this writing, I am betting my (then) whole month’s college allowance that between 60% - 70% of the enrolled students in the Journalism program couldn’t care less about it and the remaining population are somewhat familiar with it but doesn’t know what it is called. I am willing to make my bet twice the original sum that as soon as readers finished reading the next paragraph, at least 60% will open up another tab in search for the term I was talking about.
The term is none other than Arab Spring.
Professors said that we should read, read and, read. A number of them made us write, write and, write articles. But to no avail. A professor laments that all we knew were Facebook, Twitter and everything else in between. We barely read (academic handouts) and studied hard enough, that’s because there’s nothing to be studied about. We were too engrossed with catching deadlines, perhaps not so much, as our free-spirited manner made us post statuses in Facebook and Twitter about our progress in writing that six to eight-page critique paper in Literary Criticism, 1,000 word article in business journalism, and editing thesis drafts on the eve before the submission! Cramming is our best friend. Neophytes and other journalists should know this because we should, or should I say, we must learn to deal and live with it unlike other people.
Despite the written exercises, professors laments that our writing still does not match to their standards. Another professor scolded us again and again for not brushing up our grammar as flaws were evidently seen especially on our broadcast report scripts. How did we make up for this?
Three sections in our batch would not forget that day during our Broadcast Journalism written exam, as each one painstakingly answered essays and wrote broadcast scripts for three hours straight that almost made us want to rip our hands apart. Everyone exiting the room was wringing their hands. The other section who had a different professor suffered a different fate as their grades were withheld during the semestral break since they were given broadcast reporting project to work on during the said period, on top of other requirements. A small price to pay for our inevitable flaws in the truest sense of the writing word, don’t you think?
And speaking of flaws, who would ever forget that a number of groups rushed back and forth from printing shops back to Sir Eros on the eve of submitting tabloids because of the tabloid sheets’ printing mishaps?
But like the common saying, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Either we made it to the finish line or die trying.
On that final day of our thesis submission, few groups were still doing final consultation with their thesis advisers, while majority were still editing their manuscripts. Deadline was set at 8 p.m. The last group who rushed to Thomas Aquinas Research Complex (TARC) that night submitted their manuscript at almost 10 p.m. “Better late than never,” that was the mantra in that prosperous night.
Accompanied with the research God himself, exiting the TARC building together with the rest of the groups who barely made it made us feel like we won that million-peso jackpot prize. Overflowing euphoric emotions was similar to that of a gushing fountain, even if thesis defense was still slated in a few weeks.
After seniors retreat, baccalaureate mass became our next stop before our graduation ceremony. The rest of the events, though untold and unspoken, will forever be part of our history. Sadly, we never met our goal of marching in Quadricentennial Pavilion with our original block mates from day one since a few, though valiant-hearted, left our battle in pursuit of their own battles.
Four sections, four years, one goal. Seniors retreat, Baccalaureate mass and the graduation day were major milestones in our lives. Everything that we had been through has now come to an end, and what’s left for us to do is to savor these moments while it lasts. Endless possibilities of who we are to become awaits each and every one of us. Together, we left the 4x4 vehicle we have so long gotten used to.
For once, the world is ours for the taking. J
Ms. Kristine Elizabeth B. Dihiansan is a 2012 AB Journalism graduate and was last year’s news editor of The Journalese.
"We were at the prime of our college lives – with a seniority status on our sleeves but still a vague mindset of our own future, yet we have no choice but to move forward and to face the uncertainties of the world."
The world is ours for the taking.
Four sections, four years, one goal. Cruising through time, meeting mishaps along the way, and troubleshooting them are all part of the journey. At first, it seems like we are geared towards our destination, what we realized along the way is that it’s not always the destination, but the journey, that matters the most.
We were at the prime of our college lives – with a seniority status on our sleeves but still a vague mindset of our own future. Still locked within the four walls on our fourth year, our character development was still a far cry from the character formation that the University is expected to instill in their students, even if majority of us were leaders and editors of various student organizations and publications, respectively. Smart and talented lot but nonetheless, naive, young and carefree. We were still too young to understand world problems, yet old enough to play dumb in the face of its intricacies. That’s the greatest irony coming from the largest pool of Journalism batch.
Arab spring, Osama Bin Laden’s death, Japan’s massive earthquake, Russian elections, and Royal matrimony – these were the realities of the world. We were unaffected (except for those who have relatives in afflicted countries) because we have our own reality to deal with, less intricate to comprehend than worldly problems but deadlier than deadlines.
Thesis.
It separates the thin line between “make” or “break.” It was on everyone’s lips.
“Thesis-it!”
“Tungkol saan thesis niyo?”
“Di ako pwede mamaya, may thesis kami.”
“Google docs tayo para ma-edit natin yung thesis kahit di tayo magkakasama.”
“May similar topic yung thesis natin sa National Library. Punta tayo dun.”
“Guys, bukas na ang pasahan ng Chapters 1 and 2 ng thesis pero wala pa tayong nagagawa.”
“Ui, kamusta na si ***** sa grupo niyo? Pasaway daw siya sa thesis niyo ah.”
Did I say deadlier than deadlines? The fact that everyone struggled to make it to submission day yet majority of us always didn’t make it, and the looming thought of not graduating because of failure to meet the requirement killed us every single day.
Lone entity but powerful enough to destroy the camaraderie even among the best of friends who decided to work as a group, we were the first to demonstrate PBB teens-like attitude even before PBB teens became unpopular with the media-savvy Filipino people – Facebook rants, gossiping behind people’s backs, and many more to mention – all these not because of boyfriend / girlfriend relationships, but because of an intellectual discourse.
It was also successful in eradicating the presence of the graduating batch to the annual Journalism acquaintance party – our last party in our college life. Our batch was outnumbered by the lower years. Majority in our batch decided to wear their game faces and work in front of laptops instead of flaunting party outfits and emitting vibrant energy. What can we do? While the rest of the populace is celebrating post – prelims week, we still have to meet the initial deadline for our thesis submission.
It kept our mind working with a 2,000 or more horsepower – long enough to keep us going for days without sleep. We ate it for brunch, merienda and midnight snack, because having breakfast, lunch and dinner is really not our thing now. This is the new normal for all, if not most, among the graduating batch. Everyone write with it, bathe with it and even sleep with it.
That is how simple – minded creatures we are. We think of it as the greatest hindrance to our social lives. It eats up our time and energy, even making it as an excuse why we disregard other pressing matters – be it for personal, academic or worldly matters. Recalling a classroom scene that seems like eons ago, a professor said a coined term and asked for its significance in world events. None in the class dared to answer.
We were at the prime of our college lives – with a seniority status on our sleeves but still a vague mindset of our own future, yet we have no choice but to move forward and to face the uncertainties of the world.
As of this writing, I am betting my (then) whole month’s college allowance that between 60% - 70% of the enrolled students in the Journalism program couldn’t care less about it and the remaining population are somewhat familiar with it but doesn’t know what it is called. I am willing to make my bet twice the original sum that as soon as readers finished reading the next paragraph, at least 60% will open up another tab in search for the term I was talking about.
The term is none other than Arab Spring.
Professors said that we should read, read and, read. A number of them made us write, write and, write articles. But to no avail. A professor laments that all we knew were Facebook, Twitter and everything else in between. We barely read (academic handouts) and studied hard enough, that’s because there’s nothing to be studied about. We were too engrossed with catching deadlines, perhaps not so much, as our free-spirited manner made us post statuses in Facebook and Twitter about our progress in writing that six to eight-page critique paper in Literary Criticism, 1,000 word article in business journalism, and editing thesis drafts on the eve before the submission! Cramming is our best friend. Neophytes and other journalists should know this because we should, or should I say, we must learn to deal and live with it unlike other people.
Despite the written exercises, professors laments that our writing still does not match to their standards. Another professor scolded us again and again for not brushing up our grammar as flaws were evidently seen especially on our broadcast report scripts. How did we make up for this?
Three sections in our batch would not forget that day during our Broadcast Journalism written exam, as each one painstakingly answered essays and wrote broadcast scripts for three hours straight that almost made us want to rip our hands apart. Everyone exiting the room was wringing their hands. The other section who had a different professor suffered a different fate as their grades were withheld during the semestral break since they were given broadcast reporting project to work on during the said period, on top of other requirements. A small price to pay for our inevitable flaws in the truest sense of the writing word, don’t you think?
And speaking of flaws, who would ever forget that a number of groups rushed back and forth from printing shops back to Sir Eros on the eve of submitting tabloids because of the tabloid sheets’ printing mishaps?
But like the common saying, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Either we made it to the finish line or die trying.
On that final day of our thesis submission, few groups were still doing final consultation with their thesis advisers, while majority were still editing their manuscripts. Deadline was set at 8 p.m. The last group who rushed to Thomas Aquinas Research Complex (TARC) that night submitted their manuscript at almost 10 p.m. “Better late than never,” that was the mantra in that prosperous night.
Accompanied with the research God himself, exiting the TARC building together with the rest of the groups who barely made it made us feel like we won that million-peso jackpot prize. Overflowing euphoric emotions was similar to that of a gushing fountain, even if thesis defense was still slated in a few weeks.
After seniors retreat, baccalaureate mass became our next stop before our graduation ceremony. The rest of the events, though untold and unspoken, will forever be part of our history. Sadly, we never met our goal of marching in Quadricentennial Pavilion with our original block mates from day one since a few, though valiant-hearted, left our battle in pursuit of their own battles.
Four sections, four years, one goal. Seniors retreat, Baccalaureate mass and the graduation day were major milestones in our lives. Everything that we had been through has now come to an end, and what’s left for us to do is to savor these moments while it lasts. Endless possibilities of who we are to become awaits each and every one of us. Together, we left the 4x4 vehicle we have so long gotten used to.
For once, the world is ours for the taking. J
Ms. Kristine Elizabeth B. Dihiansan is a 2012 AB Journalism graduate and was last year’s news editor of The Journalese.