The future is born

I was so pissed off yesterday. I don’t like to attend ceremonies in general since I find them too rigid and too impersonal to be worth my time. I don’t want to go to anywhere that involves a lot of speeches and a lot of marching, scratchy gowns and barongs, melting makeup. I just wanted to stay at home and be handed my diploma. This is why I was snapping at my mom like a brat who was denied her cheesecake, refusing to take pictures that should have been with me for the rest of my life, and generally being nasty to everyone. I am such a terrible graduate.

And so, what I felt yesterday was…mostly nothing. Well, okay, I teared up a little but not in the usual parts. It was when the professors  of our college started to march down the aisle. They looked so happy and proud of us, us who are the fruit of four years of their severely underpaid labor. These are the people who contributed heavily to who I am now—and I won’t see them again. Maybe I will, but all I would probably do then is nod. 

Congratulations to the professors who have just given birth to the future. I bet all of you have terribly unflattering figurative stretch marks by now.