Finally

I remember my graduation day a year ago.

I remember the afternoon—warm and unhurried. I remember the sky—an abstract of orange and purple. I remember that there was drumming in my heart while we were marching. I remember that they were all there—my mother, my sisters, my cousins, my brothers and sisters in the Lord, and some friends dear to me—unwilling to miss it for the world. I remember that I was very happy. I had finally come to that day, and I had always imagined that I would cry. But I did not.

I want to tell you that I did not give up, not a bit of me.

College life turned out to be very different for me. To be more specific, it turned out to be very “long” for me. For a long time, I could not see the finish line. But I was going to discover the amazing work of God. I was going to learn that the perseverance He would give me would make me endure what was difficult and bring me closer to what was distant.

My college life began with a mistake. I chose a degree program, BS Biology, which would prove to be too high for my mental capacity and too heavy for my family’s finances. In 2002, the year I entered college, I was a 16-year-old who did not know himself and what he wanted. After three years, I quit. That was the choice left. The circumstances had made clear that my parents could not support me anymore and my grades pointed out very firmly that I had no future in that program.

It took me that long to realize, but I refuse to call it wasted years. There were precious lessons there. For a year and a half, I was an out-of-school youth. I laughed at the negative connotation of this. But I was not unproductive. Immediately, I was able to work as an English tutor to Koreans, and it was during this time that I learned lesson after lesson in life. I learned hard work, preparedness, flexibility, punctuality, and perseverance, among other things.

At 19, I had an 8-hour job and good pay, and subsequently became the breadwinner of my family. For quite a while I forgot about school.

But the time always comes for us to realize the important things. One day, my boss told me that he could send me to teach in Korea if I had a diploma. With this tremendous opportunity missed, I knew right then that I should go back to school.

Therefore, in the second term of 2006, I found myself in the classroom again, unbelieving, anxious, and happy.

I was the oldest in class. I shifted to psychology because it was less time-demanding than my previous program and would allow me to work at the same time. (Amazingly, it turned out that I loved this field.) Because of my work, I could only take four subjects in a term; hence, my time in school would be doubled.

The years that followed were the most difficult years of my life. I had to support my family, my needs, and my schooling.

Juggling work, school, church, and family was the hardest thing. It involved incredible physical endurance, time management, perseverance, and a vision. I could not afford to be sick. If I did, four aspects of my life would be affected. I could not afford a single minute wasted. Therefore, the transportation system in the Philippines posted a constant challenge to my temper. A late bus meant a missed lunch, and a missed lunch meant jeopardized health; furthermore, a slow jeepney meant being late for work. There was a time I had to beg my teacher to dismiss me 10 minutes before the appointed time so that I could have my lunch and still be on time for work. I am thankful I had teachers who understood.

This was my life for more than four years—a student in the morning and a teacher in the afternoon until night. I also had part-time work on weekends. Rest was a luxury, although enjoying the Lord in church meetings made things a lot lighter. I had to wake up very early in the morning and sleep late at night. My family would be asleep when I left home and when I returned. My schedule did not allow me to study for my lessons except during the hourlong bus ride to school, which more often than not I used to catch up on sleep. Sometimes, I dozed off in class. Expectedly, I failed some subjects and had to repeat them. This made my years in college longer than I had planned.

Of course, I came to a point that I was so weary, both body and soul, like an overstretched rubber band ready to break. But again I would like to tell you that I did not give up. I had a dream, a vision.

And I finally reached the finish line. I thank the Lord greatly for strengthening me all the way. The finish line was marked by that unforgettable day at the college secretary’s office where I was filling out a form called Application for Graduation. I can tell you that the joy in my heart was indescribable. I could have hugged everybody. I was walking in the clouds.

On my graduation day, everything was perfect. My barong Tagalog was new and crisp. My shoes were shiny. My hair had a good cut. I held my sablay in my hand like a treasure. My brother took pictures of each step: while I was walking on the street, while waiting for the taxi, while marching, while going up the stage, while being hugged by family and friends.

On that day, everything was beautiful. The sky was soft and deserved poetry. The flowers of the fire tree next to the stage were gleaming orange, like patches of the setting sun. The chairs were white, like cottony clouds at midday. My mother hugged me, crying for joy. There was joy on everybody’s face.

My name was called—a very beautiful sound to my ears—and I went up the stage. The host called my name—just three words, but it meant eight long years of struggle culminating in the exceeding bliss of triumph. I was a graduate. Lisa Baliao, my sociology teacher, my friend, told me: “Sonny, finally.” I smiled back and said: “Yes, ma’am, finally.”

Sonny Tolentino III, 26, is a psychology graduate of the University of the Philippines Visayas in Miag-ao, Iloilo.